


To by Too

by 2x2verse (agent_florida)



Series: 2x2 [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Asexual Character, Ashen Romance | Auspistice, Cultural Differences, Cybersex, Dating, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Foreign Language, Genderqueer Character, Hacking, Intersex Character, Light Bondage, M/M, Multi, Penis Euphemisms, Pesterlog, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Rap Battles, References to Drugs, Sexting, Underage Drinking, Voyeurism, Xeno, Xenobiology, base64, the nook: it's not what you think
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 100,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_florida/pseuds/2x2verse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CG: IT'S LIKE A SHRÖDINGER'S MEOWBEAST OF POTENTIAL ROMANTIC DISASTER UP IN THIS BITCH</p><p>--</p><p>John’s not good at relationships or emotions or anything. He’s just a guy. Just a guy with a lot of people who mean a lot to him, and he’d hate to have to categorize those relationships into neat little boxes like trolls or have to pick only one that matters the most under the human system. (I swear to God there's going to be sex but also a lot of dorky boys doing cute gay dating and kissing things because this dynamic is fascinating and I want all four of them to be happy.)</p><p>--</p><p>NOW WITH 8TRAX PLAYLIST: http://8tracks.com/agent_florida/to-by-too</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Shit,” John whistles through his teeth. He has to drag his headphones off his head before they ruin his eardrums with their screeching. Now? His computer has to crash now when his project is due in nine hours? The blue screen is just mocking him at this point. “This is not good.”

“Not good like Tommy Wiseau or not good like Michael Bay?” Dave quips from his bed. He’s on his stomach,  wearing nothing but a pair of threadbare flannel pants, wired in to his Mac; given the hand movements John can see on the trackpad, he’s dick-deep in the middle of a production project.

At least his computer didn’t decide to give up in the middle of it. “Shut up,” John mutters. Time to fire off some quick texts to see if he can’t get some tech support.

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began trolling twinArmageddons  [TA] at 23:24 --

EB: hey.  
TA: what ii2 iit now?  
EB: are you still at the lab?  
TA: let me gue22.  
TA: you had a dangliing modiifiier 2omewhere when you triied two run the program, now your entiire hu2ktop decided two fiinally giive up on you.  
EB: i don't know about that whole modifier thing, but i tried to do a test run and now i am looking at a blue screen.  
EB: are you still at the lab or not?  
TA: ju2t come over beefore you take down the network wiith a viiru2.  
EB: thanks. i am kind of freaking out.  
TA: ii told you two 2tart the project 2 week2 ago.  
EB: surprise, surprise, i didn't listen.  
EB: so will you help me or not?  
TA: get your a22 over here already.  
EB: be there soon.

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased trolling twinArmageddons  [TA] at 23:39 --

“Gonna go see your boyfriend and make him write the code for you?” Dave teases.

“For the last time,” John says, rolling his eyes as he shoulders his bag, “Sollux isn’t my boyfriend.” At this point, he’s just Karkat’s roommate. And another potential compsci major, so he’s in most of John’s classes. Sollux is a pretty good classmate, too, willing to drop pretty much anything to help others as long as he gets to proselytize at them about coding languages while he edits their homework.

When John looks over, Dave is just sniggering silently to himself. “Y’all just seem to do a lot of those one-on-ones, nahmean?”

“Just because we study together doesn’t mean there’s anything going on.” Not that John would be totally averse to it if there were to be something going on. That whole i am not a homosexual! thing kind of died out somewhere in high school, probably right around when the help, everyone is hot. phase kicked in. John yanks out his flash drive from his now-dead computer, moving for the door. “Hold down the fort while I’m gone, yeah?”

“If you wake me up when you come in at three in the morning by climbing into my bed and trying to snuggle with me—again—I will fistfuck your throat open so I can reach down and pull out your own intestine, and then I’m going to strangle you with it.”

“Love you too, honey,” John says absently, jamming his headphones over his ears again while he heads out to the computer lab.

It’s kind of chilly outside. John pulls his hood over his head, crunches leaves under his feet. At least campus is well-lit at night, and at least it’s still warm enough at the end of September not to need a coat this late. He breathes deep and inhales a lungful of sea air through ancient pines curled around mountain peaks. Seattle seemed like a dumb place to put ABSU, but for John, it feels like home.

Thanks to a generous grant from the Peixes Foundation, every veteran of the Crisis—that’s what they ended up calling it in the newspapers and everything—every veteran got a full scholarship to a new university set up in the wake of the Crisis: Alternia-Beforus State University. Mostly it was for the trolls to have a place to settle in the wake of the destruction of their universe, but it’s nice for John and his friends, too, to have a place where people understand what they’ve been through. ABSU is a pioneer in quite a few fields, most of them having to deal with troll anthropology, but it’s just like any other university at heart, really.

John knows. He’s been to more than a few. As soon as his junior year of high school, he was getting letters from places like Harvard and Yale and Cornell, practically begging him to grace them with his presence. He wasn't alone in that, either—all the other kids were getting the same letters, some with lucrative figures. Rose almost accepted the offer, but when she heard Kanaya was going to the new school in Seattle, she changed her mind.

For John, it was never a question. ABSU is right in his backyard, and all of his friends are here. A few enemies, too, but every college campus would have had those. Besides, he’s making even more friends since being exposed to all this troll nonsense. Sollux is one of those, and John’s so, so glad he’s available at such short notice, because this whole waiting until the last minute to turn in his project thing is kind of ridiculous.

It’s bright in the computer lab. It’s also nearly empty. Not many people have mid-semester projects due this early. Sollux is here, though—John can tell more from sound than from sight. All John has to do is follow the sound of typing like a Gatling gun and there he is, all six-foot-four of his lanky self. He’s wearing yet another of those Zazzle Poetry shirts he likes so much: i’m sorry it’s just that i literally do not care at all. Those skinny jeans just make him look even skinnier. He’s John’s height but looks taller—more stretched out. “Did you at least bring a flash drive or do I have to do everything myself?” He only whistles a little around the S sounds now, the lisp almost gone. That’s what growing up does to you.

“Got it right here,” John reassures him, leaning over to plug it into the computer. “You gotta help me, I’m completely freaking out.”

“What did you do,” Sollux monotones. It’s not even a question at this point.

John leans on the computer desk, reaches around Sollux to get to the mouse, only to find that the troll got there first. Their hands brush before John thinks to pull back and point at the screen. “Look, I think that’s where it went wrong, but that part is straight from the slides Professor Borgen was using.”

Sollux squints at the code through his glasses. They’re the fancy yellow-tinted kind—Gunners, or something, made for gamers, but apparently these are better than the old red-and-blue lenses he used to wear according to Karkat. “No, that’s not it,” he says quickly, hammering the down-arrow to scroll through John’s project. “You got a BSOD?”

“Yeah. I have no idea how I’m going to get my computer to work. I think I might literally kiss you if you can tell me what I did wrong,” John blabs. Then, once Sollux stops scrolling, “Wait, what are you doing?”

Sollux’s fingers go clack-clack on the keys. “Fixing your code.”

“That part isn’t broken!” John insists. “I put that part in there myself—“

“That’s why it’s broken,” Sollux says, his voice even.

“—I didn’t even—oh.” John bites his tongue, watches as his code is replaced by something he doesn’t even understand. “What’s that?”

“Well, first of all, you forgot to close an elsif,” Sollux points out drily. He brings one hand up off the keyboard to point it out, but the other one is still typing at mach speed. “Then you forgot to have an escape for this.”

“An escape?”

Here he goes. “Without a return statement here, you get this mess you have. Look at how far you’re indented here.” Sollux motions somewhere else, but it’s too quick for John to follow. “And if I just put this here,” he motions, “you can load your assignment in here,” another motion, “and have the program spit it out without it going into an infinite loop if it has one too many words on a line.”

Time for an hour-long re-lecture so it finally sinks into John’s head. Sollux goes through, line by line, to explain what the program is supposed to do, and while John does a lot of nodding, he thinks he understands it this time around. It’s certainly easier to pay attention when the teacher is someone his own age who has some patience for people as stupid as he is.

“Wow,” John breathes out at the end of it. Sollux is kind of a genius. “So, say I got T.S. Eliot for my assignment…”

“I’m not doing your entire assignment for you, JB.” John thinks it’s cute that Sollux has his own nickname for him. It’s a hell of a lot nicer than JN, which is what Sollux used to call him. “But just to prove that it works…” Sollux tabs over to an Internet browser, highlights a random chunk of text, and copies it. When he enters the program John’s supposed to turn in in—wow, ten hours?—at least the thing doesn’t crash right off the bat. But when the text goes in, and then back out, that’s exactly what John wanted to see. The program’s supposed to take a hefty amount of input and scramble it into a poem, and that’s just what this does. “Happy?”

“Dude. That’s amazing.” John’s kind of dumbfounded. Most of the time, he can’t even follow what Sollux is doing, let alone saying. But the troll is smart, a lot smarter than him, and he’ll take his word for it that the thing works like it’s supposed to. It’s not just the program that he has to turn in, after all, it’s five scrambled snippets from the same text to provide samples of how well it works. There’s a profound sense of relief sweeping over him, panic dissolving to serenity. He might even understand what to do now.

Sollux just shrugs. “Did you think I was going to let you blow up your computer?”

“Sollux, wow, I really appreciate—I think I can get my computer out of the blue screen because of this—I could kiss you.” John hugs Sollux from behind, around the shoulders, but that’s not enough. This deserves a full-on hug, because Sollux just possibly saved John from a failing grade and from staying up all night on Google, trying to figure out where he went wrong.

John wheels Sollux around in his computer chair, puts his hands on the arms of it—which gets his fingers to circle the troll’s wrists. He wasn’t expecting that bit of contact to be so electric, but there they are. “You really don’t have to,” Sollux insists.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” John says right back, and before he can think better of it, he leans forward and lands a quick peck on Sollux’s lips.

Something tingles over him. When he pulls back and looks down, the hairs on his forearms are standing up. A thrum runs the full length of his body. “Uh,” Sollux says eloquently, looking up at John through his lenses. His pupils are blown, but John can tell his eyes are two different colors—the right one red, the left one blue. It’s gorgeous.

“Um,” John says in kind, biting his lip. Yep. Definitely tingly. “Is that normal?” He has no idea what to expect. Well, yeah, he knows Sollux and other lowblooded trolls can do some of that psychic energy stuff, but nothing like that.

Sollux turns his hands under John’s grip; his fingertips come up to the inside of his wrists. “No, that’s never happened before.”

“Bad or good?”

“Good, I think—“

John kisses him again, this time a little less impulsively. The current is more noticeable, a spark jumping from Sollux’s mouth to his. Holy shit, there is actual literal electricity between the two of them. Sollux breathes in softly; John bumps the troll’s nose with his own, moves his mouth the slightest bit, and Sollux sighs out that held breath against John’s lips. His fingers curl and stroke the pulse point on John’s wrists. “Sorry,” John whispers.

“Thorry?” There’s the old lisp. “I’ve been wanting you to do that thinthe you athked me to tutor you after our firtht clath.” He nudges his forehead against John’s; the rims of their glasses bump together.

Maybe he only lisps when he’s flustered. Why is that so freaking adorable? “Why didn’t you say anything?” John starts chuckling. “Oh, this is rich, Dave was just making fun of me for you being my boyfriend—Karkat’s probably been saying shit, hasn’t he, he actually ships his friends—why didn’t you say anything, I would’ve, I could’ve—”

Sollux reaches up, dislodging one of John’s hands, and gets his fingers in the collar of John’s shirt. The kiss he gives John is demanding, but still chaste. “Less talking, more kissing,” Sollux says against his mouth, then kisses him harder.

John can do that. By God can John do that. He licks along Sollux’s lips—something sweet but not saccharine, an organic and genuine taste layered over the buzz of caffeine—and Sollux licks right back, touching his tongue to John’s, and at that John chokes on a breath, brings his hand up to brush through Sollux’s hair and cradle his head close.

Sollux makes a purring noise. Oh, that’s too much, trolls purr when they like things? John swirls his fingertips against Sollux’s scalp and the troll rewards him with a sigh. It just means he can slip his tongue into Sollux’s wanting mouth. The purring sounds escalate and Sollux shifts under him, lunging up and pushing John back and his thighs hit the edge of the computer desk and his ass is awkwardly perched next to the mousepad and there’s six feet four inches of gangly troll standing between his legs and John doesn’t want this to stop.

The electricity hasn’t really gone away, but it’s more focused now. John isn’t exaggerating when he feels little lightning strikes when Sollux’s hand slips out of his shirt to trace his throat. There’s another little surge when Sollux licks against his teeth, then further, and John’s free hand drops down to curl possessively around the troll’s hip. He’s smooth and sweet like honey and John can’t get enough. His thumb brushes against Sollux’s horn just when his teeth run across his bottom lip.

Sollux jolts in his hold. “Whoa there, JB,” he says, pulling back just enough to speak, but John can taste every single one of his words, soft breath against his lips. “Maybe you could take a troll out to breakfatht firtht, or whatever your human ritualth are for pailing.”

“Breakf—wait, pailing?” The breakfast thing is easy enough to understand, because trolls were nocturnal on their home planets and it would be like taking a human out to dinner, but the other thing… John presses his thumbprint in a slow little circle at the space between two of Sollux’s horns, and Sollux’s purr escalates into a downright growl. “You like this—that much?” At least Karkat had already explained to him, ambiguously and with vague hand motions, what pailing entailed.

Sollux nods. His nose bumps against John’s, his horns slipping in the boy’s hand. “Thenthitive.”

“Okay.” John lets his hand fall, instead matching the slow caress of the troll’s fingers on his neck. “Okay.” Not now, then. Still, he’s not done. He needs more of that mouth. On his mouth. Right now. He holds Sollux close, kisses him, lets his mouth fall away to press little caresses into the troll’s jawline. “Maybe later,” he suggests—or is that a promise?—with his tongue against the space below Sollux’s ear.

The troll’s body jerks, taut and then just as suddenly melting against his. Their chests are so close John swears he can feel the—what’s it called—blood pusher, or whatever, under Sollux’s breastbone. “Jeethuth,” Sollux whispers, his hands sending out an electric current that arcs along John’s skin.

“Maybe all of you is what’s sensitive,” John suggests, just as quiet even though he knows no one’s there to overhear them. His hands run down Sollux’s arms, his fingertips dawdling in the place behind his elbows to keep him from getting too far away and gently encouraging him to stay where he is. Sollux shivers even at that.

The electricity is more pointed now. At first John counted two hands on his body, one holding his hand to the edge of the desk and the other at his throat, but now there’s a third—is that even possible? John pulls back, looks down, and there’s something crackling between Sollux’s body and his own, a hand made from red and blue sparks pushing up the hem of his shirt and skimming up the soft skin of his stomach. “What—” John’s voice cracks. “What is that?”

“Psionics,” Sollux explains. That’s not really an explanation, but it’s as good as John’s going to get. Besides, he’s not exactly complaining, not when it feels sort of ticklish-sensual against his side under his shirt, and he makes a little noise that Sollux licks out of his mouth with the point of his tongue and wow this is. This is really good, actually, and John didn’t expect it when he first texted for help but boy is he sure glad he asked now. He reaches down with some serious purpose, gets his hands at the back pockets of Sollux’s jeans, and squeezes. Just a little. Just enough, and now it’s Sollux making the small little desperate sound.

They’re just at the point where a fourth hand is sneaking under John’s shirt when their surroundings plummet the boys into darkness. “Shit,” Sollux mutters, mouth slipping away from John’s.

“Um.” When Sollux extricates himself from between John’s legs, John feels hot and cold all at once, trying to adjust to only one body in his personal space again. “What the hell was that?”

Sollux’s voice is halfway across the lab by now. “They turned the lights out on us.”

“Turned the—wait, what time is it?” John starts fumbling for his phone—can’t read his watch in the dark.

“The end of my shift,” Sollux says. A click as he flips a switch, and then there’s a few fluorescents flickering to life to usher them out. “I’m usually only here until one.”

“One like one in the mor—” Yup. That’s what his phone says. John whistles through his buck teeth. “I didn’t mean to keep you so late, I’m sorry—”

“Quit apologizing, douchelord, it makes you sound like a weenie.” Just in case John didn’t already get the message that it was time to leave, Sollux’s grip around his wrist as he yanks him out of the building is a clear sign. John grabs his bag, his flashdrive, his project, and lets the troll drag him away.

At least he knows campus well enough to know where they’re going. John’s spent a lot of time in Sollux’s dorm, though usually he’s there to hang out with Karkat. Well, there’s going to be someone else to spend time with now, and he smiles, feeling his face grow hot against the chill of the autumn night. The insistent clamp of Sollux making John wear his hand like a bracelet has softened; the troll’s hand slips into his, and their fingers thread together, and John very carefully looks at the sidewalk while Sollux looks away.

When they reach the troll’s dorm, Sollux breaks away. John’s not letting him off so easy, though. “Hey,” he calls out, still trying to keep his voice down.

“Hey what?”

John grabs the hand that slipped out of his, steps closer to Sollux, leaves a short soft kiss on the troll’s slack mouth. “Let me take you out for coffee.”

“Right now? It’s a little late.”

John chuckles. How could he forget how dry Sollux’s sense of humor is? “No, not right now, idiot. In the morning. We have class in seven hours and I feel bad about keeping you up.”

“So long as you feel bad.” Sollux just shrugs.

John’s not done, though. “I mean it. We’ll get coffee and then turn in our projects.”

“JB, I’m not going off-campus for coffee before an eight-AM class.”

“Just.” John butts his forehead gently against Sollux’s. “Let me get you coffee. Please.”

They stand with locked—well, for Sollux it’s literal, locked horns, and if John were a troll he’s sure they’d literally be at a deadlock. Then Sollux backs off, and John uses the momentum to leave another peck on his lips. “Fine,” Sollux says.

“Good.”

“Okay.”

“Well.”

“Go home, JB,” Sollux says quietly. His fingertip dawdles against John’s palm for a few seconds before he turns to swipe into his dorm.

John’s left with tingling lips and buzzing hands. His entire body feels like it’s vibrating with barely-contained energy as he nearly skips back to his own dorm. It’s bright in the hallways but dark in his room when he turns the key and jimmies the handle. Of course. Dave doesn’t usually sleep a whole lot, but he’s not really fond of anywhere between one and five in the morning. “Dave,” John says insistently, throwing his bag down.

“No,” Dave grumbles. If he was sleeping, he probably isn’t any more, given that he turns over so he can put his back to John.

John just keeps stripping, throwing his clothes on his desk chair, until he’s down to his boxers. “Dave Dave Dave Dave Dave—”

“Yes, okay, I get it, I have a first name—get off me, Egbert, some of us actually need a tight three hours for our beauty sleep.”

John’s got his arm over Dave’s waist, pressing his chin into his roommate’s shoulder. “I think I have a boyfriend,” he whispers. It’s hard to keep quiet, he’s smiling so hard.

Dave groans, long and loud. “You swept his chocolate chimney with your magic broomstick, didn’t you.”

“I don’t even—no. No, Dave, we didn’t have sex.” Everything with Dave is always about sex, though. “He fixed my project, yeah, but then I kissed him, and he kissed me back, and it was so good, Dave, he’s amazing, he can do this thing with his mind that’s like electricity but it’s solid too, it was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen, and we’re going out for coffee tomorrow, and—”

Dave finds his spare pillow, jams it over his head. “Why did you wake me up for your shitass story if there weren’t going to be dicks in butts,” comes out completely muffled.

“Sorry.” He probably can’t hear John, but he’ll be able to feel the reassuring squeeze of John’s hand on his shoulder, the comforting caress of his fingers down his bare arm. “Sleep.”

Maybe John will be motivated enough to get out of Dave’s bed and into his own in a few minutes, but for now, his body is exhausted and his brain is whirring and his heart is hammering like he’s a child again and this is Christmas Eve. They used to do this when they were kids, sleep over at each other’s houses and sleep in each other’s beds and whisper secrets to each other under cover of blankets, and it’s nice to know that, after all this time, things have never changed.

\--

It’s strange for Sollux to come back to a respiteblock without any recuperacoons, but they don’t need them here—no nightmares to stave off, no need for sopor. “Hey,” Sollux offers, giving Karkat an up-nod.

His roommate returns the gesture. “You’re back late.” Sometimes Karkat still has trouble adjusting to this planet, though, and Sollux will wake up to a door slammed so he can go to the on-campus health clinic and use one of their coons and sleep through the sun and wake up once it’s dark again.

Right now, though, he seems to be doing fine, and Sollux is grateful for one less thing to mope about. “JB kept me over my shift,” he explains. He opens his laptop, starts typing in his password.

He can nearly hear Karkat’s ears pricking up. “John came to see you tonight?”

“Yeah.” More typing, this time entering his hours into the campus employee system. “He kissed me.”

“Oh.” Karkat’s not-so-cleverly hiding his interest in this conversation by looking over the top of his book. “Tongue?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

And that’s all there is to it.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s way too early for this, but John’s doing it anyway. Six AM is brutal enough without having to finish his project, so at least he can soothe it over with some coffee. Dave’s already gone by the time he wakes up. Probably out in one of the practice rooms in the music building. A few quick cut and pastes and then he burns the thing to a spare CD.

The Grind is the best coffeehouse near ABSU, but it’s also off-campus, which means John has to actually get in his car and drive. Still, this will be a nice surprise. Right? There are already so many people in line, but it gives John time to think about what else to get besides his own drink. Sollux likes everything oversweet, likes his sugar and caffeine—four-shot 20-ounce? But what flavor? He should probably get something for Karkat, too; knowing John, he’ll still be asleep and he’ll start clamoring about how much he wants to beat John to death with his own skull for waking him up.

Fourteen dollars later—jeez, vices are getting hard to sustain in these tough times—John’s whistling along to the radio, parking near Sollux and Karkat’s dorm, and trying to comb down his hair so it lays flat. Nothing doing. He’s a hot mess: one-day scruff on his chin, glasses hiding the dark circles under his eyes, wearing a shirt that passed a sniff test right off the floor.

Well. Here goes nothing.

Vriska’s the morning RA on Fridays. John gives her a wave as best he can, given that he’s hauling his messenger bag and one of those carton cup holder things the shop will give you when you order more drinks than a single hand can hold. Good thing John knows how many steps to get to the third floor by now, because he doesn’t trip on a single one or spill a single drop of the sweet, sweet life nectar he’s bearing.

The hall where Karkat and Sollux live has a weird tropical theme, light blue construction paper on every corkboard and little elementary school teacher cutouts of marine life on everyone’s door. 312 has a crab and a seahorse on its door with the names of the two guys who live there; John punches in Karkat’s crab when he knocks. “I’m here!” he tries. His voice comes out a little croaky. Lack of sleep will do that to a guy.

For a moment, John can’t hear anything from inside the room. Then an incessant nattering starts up, and John knows from experience that once the drone starts it won’t stop anytime soon. “Stupid fucking grubshitter trying to make me diurnal on this shitty excuse for a planet—“ Karkat answers the door, clad in nothing but red boxers and a black ABSU hoodie that looks about five sizes too big for him. It’s not like he’s short necessarily, but because John’s so tall, Karkat’s face is right at his breastbone, his horns ambitiously trying to be as tall as John’s shoulders. Given that he’s swimming in his clothes, he looks like a cranky child who just got woken up from a nap. “What are you doing here?”

John holds up the coffee carton. “I told Sollux I’d get him coffee.”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m great, thanks, and what about you?” The only way to deal with Karkat when he’s like this is blatant sarcasm. “I got some for you, too.”

“Shove it up my waste chute like a fucking caffeine enema while you’re at it, because you’re already sodomizing my entire brain by waking me up this goddamn early.” Karkat retreats from the door, but leaves it open; John takes his chance and sneaks in while he can. “Why are you getting him coffee?”

John shrugs. “He helped me with my project last night.”

“Oh, is that what that was?” Sollux just gives him a wide smirk. He’s still putting on his shirt; John’s stomach does a stupid thing at seeing such an expanse of gray skin laid perfectly over lean muscles. Today’s shirt says fuck the sun do not trust anything thats already on fire. John can sympathize. “What’d you get me?”

“Here. Try this.” John balances his bag on his one shoulder, gets the tallest coffee cup out of the holder. “A little unorthodox, but I thought you would like it.”

Sollux grabs it from him with two hands before John can even hold it out. Apparently, he wears his Gunners even when he isn’t in front of a computer screen. “Where’s mine?” Karkat grumbles.

John’s never going to get used to his permanent-laryngitis tone. It sounds like he’s trying to yell but also whisper at the same time. “Here you go.” Karkat’s is the shortest. Knowing him, he’ll just go right back to bed after he and Sollux leave for class.

To John’s surprise, Karkat slams it back and chugs down the entire twelve ounces without even checking how hot it is first. “Dude,” Sollux chides him.

Karkat only lets up when the whole thing is drained. “That was… actually good,” he begrudgingly admits under his breath. “What was in it?”

“Well, it was kind of a mocha and then I threw a shitton of cinnamon, cumin, and coriander in it.”

Sollux makes a little gagging sound in his throat. “Did you put curry in his coffee?”

John shrugs, detaching his own drink from the carrier and flinging the cardboard into the corner of the room. Before he can open his mouth to defend himself, though, Karkat unleashes some of his verbal diarrhea on his roommate. “Just because you can’t fucking appreciate a little inventive Earth cuisine doesn’t mean you can just insult the shit I like. Which John actually takes the time to figure out. Thanks, John,” he adds as an aside before he continues his little tantrum. “Seriously, do you _ever_ think before you open your mouth, or do you just figure your foot tastes different from the last time you shoved it in there? Get off your high hoofbeast and just drink your goddamn bean sludge.”

“Bean sludge.” John can barely suppress a chuckle at that one. Same with hoofbeast. “Come on, Sol, we’re gonna be late to class. Sorry about waking you up, Karkat!”

“Yeah, well.” Just a little apology and he’s already deflated. By the time John and Sollux have closed the door behind them, he’s turned out the lights and flopped back onto his mattress.

“Dude.” John just shakes his head, taking a sip of his vanilla latte. “I mean, Karkat is my best friend and all—“

“I thought DV was your best friend.”

“He’s my best friend too,” John corrects himself, “but unlike Karkat, I can actually stand to live with him. How do you do it?”

“Very carefully,” Sollux says sarcastically. John waves at Vriska with his free hand as the two of them walk past the front desk again, but she doesn’t seem to notice. Too busy talking to Tavros about something—and purposefully leaning over so he can get a good look down her shirt. “Seriously, though, it’s not that hard. Let him yell about shit as much as he wants, and if he starts getting physical, handle it.”

“Handle it how?” The back of John’s hand keeps brushing against Sollux’s.

Sollux doesn’t seem to notice, too busy drinking his coffee. “Shove him on his bed and hold him down until he tantrums himself out.”

“Huh.” There’s a mental image. Kind of a nice one, all things considered. Karkat on his back on his bed, flushed and screaming, under a very intense Sollux—Sollux with his hand covering Karkat’s mouth and pressing him into the mattress with the weight of his hips—Karkat violently bucking under him even while Sollux murmurs little half-threatening, half-soothing phrases into his ears—John hides his confusion in another sip of coffee. “Is that, like. A troll thing?”

“More like my roommate has a pair of incredibly sharp scythes and I prefer being alive, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Yeah, I’d kinda prefer it if you lived, too.” John chuckles at the joke, but it’s that comment that spurs him to catch Sollux’s little finger with his own. Sollux doesn’t pull away, just hooks his one finger in, and now they’re holding hands on the way to class, would you look at that.

He’s so glad he decided to sit next to Sollux the first day. If his computer blanks out again, he has built-in tech support. Thankfully, it works when he opens it. “Fixed the BSOD?” Sollux asks him.

“It fixed itself when I plugged the flash drive in.”

“You’re welcome.”

“God, you’re a jerk.” John doesn’t mean it, especially not with that grin splitting his face, and they both know it. Still, there’s not much time for idle chitchat, not when he has to pull up about five different programs to follow along in lecture.

Professor Borgen starts in earnest this morning, barely giving everyone enough time to turn in their project CDs before he’s giving an overview of the next topic on the syllabus. For about five minutes, John actually pays attention, but all that hard work gets undone when Sollux shifts next to him and his foot bumps against his own. That much is enough to distract him, and it should feel pathetic, but instead it just makes his heart do a kind of painful flipfloppy thing in his chest. Enough being a good student—time to pass notes in class.

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering twinArmageddons  [TA} at 08:07 --

EB: hey you.  
TA: you don't have two greet me, you're 2iittiing riight next two me.  
TA: pay attentiion.  
EB: don't play footsie with me under the desk and i will consider it.  
TA: foot2iie?  
EB: yeah.  
EB: that is what you were doing, right?  
TA: no, ii meant what'2 foot2iie.  
EB: forget it.  
EB: did you like your coffee?  
TA: ye2, actually.  
TA: what was iin iit?  
EB: it was going to be just a plain dulce de leche latte.  
EB: but then i had them add caramel to it.  
EB: and then i added honey on top of that.  
TA: what'2 dulce whatever?  
EB: it is kind of like sweetened condensed milk.  
TA: 2weetened conden2ed miilk?  
EB: forget i said anything.  
TA: 2o you gave me 2omethiing wiith honey and KK 2omethiing 2piicy.  
TA: what diid you giive DV?  
EB: a migraine, i think.  
EB: i woke him up when i came in last night.  
EB: he is such a diva, he probably won't talk to me for an entire six hours.  
TA: and nothiing of value was lo2t.  
TA: what diid you end up gettiing?  
EB: just a vanilla latte.  
EB: i can feel you staring at me.  
EB: at least act like you are paying attention.

 “… eight status bits, which would then be…? Egbert, how about you.”

John startles in his seat. “Uh. Can you repeat the question, sir?”

“Assume a computer with a 16-bit virtual address and one-level page tables.” Sollux is typing like a man possessed. “Now, say the first few pages were reserved for hardware flags.” John’s Pesterchum window is blinking. “These page table entries have eight status bits. Which would then be…?”

“Uh.” He’s drawing a complete blank. When he goes to tab over to his notes, he has to check his message first.

TA: one valiid biit. one modiifiied biit. one reference biit. fiive permii22iion biit2.

“Five permission bits—but those go at the end,” John fudges, “and in the front would be… a valid bit, a modified bit, and a reference bit.”

“Very good.” Professor Borgen sounds surprised, but he continues to lecture. “If you don’t see how he got there, consider the following.”

John lets out a barely-audible sigh of relief. Before he goes back to typing, he puts his hand below the desk, finds Sollux’s knee, gives it a squeeze. Sollux tenses, then nudges his knee against John’s.

EB: thanks. you saved my ass.  
TA: don't mentiion iit.  
TA: 2eriiou2ly. don't thank me.  
TA: ju2t pay fuckiing attentiion.  
EB: it is kind of hard for me to pay attention when you are sitting right there.  
EB: all brooding and mysterious.  
TA: ii thiink you confu2ed broodiing and my2teriiou2 wiith boriing and u2ele22.  
EB: hey! that is a really rude thing to say about yourself.  
EB: you are the opposite of useless.  
EB: you help lots of people all the time.  
EB: you helped me just now!  
EB: and you are definitely not boring.  
EB: not according to what i saw from you last night.  
TA: iif ii diidn't know better ii would 2ay you were tryiing two flu2hed fliirt wiith me.  
EB: for once you don't know better.  
EB: i am seducing you.  
TA: riight here? iin the cla22room?  
EB: right there on the desk.  
EB: right now.  
EB: with everyone watching.  
TA: vaniilla latte though.  
EB: what are you trying to say?  
EB: i like the simple things in life.  
EB: like watching your face turn yellow in the middle of class.  
EB: boondollar for your thoughts.  
TA: 2hut up before ii 2hut iit for you.  
EB: oh yeah baby, just like that.  
TA: ii meant your hu2ktop.  
TA: lecture'2 almo2t over.

\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] ceased trolling ectoBiologist  [EB] at 08:54 --

“… which, don’t forget, our Monday class was rescheduled to Tuesday at 8 AM.” Students are already shoving things into their backpacks, chatting with each other, but Professor Borgen’s still trying to lecture. Too bad. All John knows is they don’t have an 8 AM on Monday, which is the best news he could ask for.

Sollux is tucking his husktop away into his bag when John reaches out to catch him by the upper arm. “Hey. Question.”

“Shoot.”

“Grab some breakfast with me,” John insists.

Sollux rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling, which John counts as a victory. “That’s not a question, and I have to go to work.”

“Seriously?” John grabs his computer, his bag, starts heading out in Sollux’s wake. “You do know you don’t _have_ to do work-study, right?”

“I know. I just like it.”

“God, you’re such a nerd,” John sighs. He doesn’t exactly mean it in a disparaging way, either. It’s kind of cute, to see what Sollux is so passionate about. He’d listen to him talk about computers all day if only to hear the sound of his voice when he really starts going. “Okay, I have a better idea.”

“If it’s an idea about lunch,” Sollux cuts him off, swinging open the door and stepping out into the sun, “I have class at 11:45. No dice.”

“I don’t want dice.” Especially not blue ones. John shudders involuntarily. “No. Not about lunch. I meant dinner.”

Sollux stops in the middle of the courtyard. There’s students walking back and forth to class around the two of them. “I’m listening.”

John reaches down and grabs his hand. “Chinese food. You and me.”

“Tonight?” Sollux’s eyebrows draw together, and he starts biting at his lip.

“Well, yeah,” John says, shrugging. “It’s Friday night.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Do you seriously not know?” Sollux shakes his head. “Seriously? It’s date night.”

Sollux just narrows his eyes at that—he can’t hide that behind his Gunners. “You’re asking me out on a date?”

“Um.” Part of John just wants to say yes. Another part is reminding him that he’s talking to a troll who probably doesn’t even know what a date is and definitely doesn’t understand what human romance is. Yet another part is pointing out that if he says yes, he might be cutting off some other pretty attractive options out there. “Don’t think of it as a date,” he glosses over the awkward moment. “Just two guys. Going out for Chinese food.”

“Is it spicy?”

“I’ll get you sweet and sour chicken. You’ll love it.” All the vaguely-Asiatic cuisine places around ABSU already know John as ‘no-peanut boy,’ so no risk of anaphylaxis, either. “So?”

“You’re paying.” That’s as close to yes as John is likely to get, so he’ll take it. But on top of it, Sollux seals the deal, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to John’s mouth before squeezing his hand and heading off to the lab.

Wow. So. That just happened. John feels like he’s floating on air. Given that he’s suddenly seven feet above the ground instead of just six feet and some, it’s literally true—confirmed when he looks down and sees space between the ground and his feet. “Cool,” he says to himself. “I have a date.”

A very loud and obnoxious catcall from across the quad makes John turn his head. Nepeta is riding to class on Equius’s shoulders, dressed in her ABSU cheer squad gear; given that Equius is even taller than John, she probably got a perfect view of what just happened. She’s got a lot of voice for such a small girl, even without cupping her hands around her mouth like a makeshift megaphone. “You are gonna get him so purregnant!” she hollers.

“Shut up!” John yells back. God, she’s worse than Karkat sometimes. Still, it’s kinda nice to know someone believes in him… in a weird-ass roundabout kind of way. He’ll get her back later, once he’s sure Equius won’t kill him for it. For now, he’s hungry and has some serious reading to do for his afternoon classes.


	3. Chapter 3

\-- gardenGnostic  [GG] began pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 11:28 --  
GG: congrats!!  
EB: for what?  
GG: for having a boyfriend!!!  
EB: ... ok, i am going to need a little context.  
GG: ummmm lispy mcsnaggletooth?  
GG: apparently you two were smooching in west quad this morning ;)  
GG: i cant believe you didnt tell me!  
EB: wait, how did you hear about that?  
EB: oh my god. nepeta has been talking.  
GG: i didnt hear from her!!  
GG: i heard from equius  
EB: i didn't know you even talked to him.  
GG: hes not such a bad guy really :)  
GG: he doesnt talk a lot  
GG: so when he says something you know its a big deal  
EB: well, he is wrong.  
GG: i dont think hed lie to me about something like that!!  
EB: not about the kissing sollux thing.  
EB: about the boyfriend thing.  
GG: well he didnt actually use the word boyfriend but i think thats what he meant :P  
GG: you didnt even ask him out??  
EB: i guess i did maybe?  
EB: we're going out for chinese tonight.  
GG: good for you!!! :D  
EB: but i didn't ask him to be my boyfriend or anything.  
GG: no offense but  
GG: why the hell not???  
EB: no offense, but.  
EB: he is a troll.  
EB: i don't even know if they have such a thing as boyfriends.  
EB: i know there are quadrants and that is about it.  
GG: you could always ask him about it  
EB: and limit my options?  
GG: oh john  
GG: dont tell me youre still hung up on someone else :(  
EB: that is... not a good way to describe it.  
EB: i just don't want to jump the gun, that's all.  
GG: well youre no fun!  
GG: i guess youre not going to be available to go shooting later either  
EB: you're going shooting?  
GG: student liaisons approved our petition for a rifle team!!!!  
GG: so im going with jake roxy and eridan to check out the range  
GG: a few other people are tagging along too  
GG: i can always reschedule if you want to come after your date?  
EB: it is not a date!  
EB: and don't worry about it.  
EB: why don't you invite people you think will be interested in joining?  
GG: already way ahead of you :)  
GG: i think cronus might be coming  
GG: jake hasnt heard back from dirk yet  
GG: i dont even know if roxy asked anyone  
GG: theres a lot of people though!  
EB: well, don't let me keep you if you have planning to do.  
GG: and dont let me keep you from mooning over your boyfriend :P  
EB: he is not my boyfriend!  
GG: whatever you say bro ;)  
\-- gardenGnostic  [GG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 11:41 --

\-- arsenicCatnip  [AC] began trolling ectoBiologist  [EB] at 12:06 --  
AC: :33 < *ac stalks behind the mighty hero, licking both her lips*  
EB: not now!  
EB: i am in class.  
AC: :33 < *ac lets out a small mewl of disappointment*  
EB: what do you want?  
AC: :33 < just to pestpurr mew in the middle of class  
EB: you need to stop.  
AC: :33 < i thought you apurrciated my suppurrt! :((  
EB: yeah, well, not when it includes shouting loud enough for the whole school to hear.  
EB: everyone knows you are on the cheerleading squad by now.  
EB: you don't have to remind everyone about it all the time.  
AC: :33 < mew can do him mew can do him put your human bone bulge in him!!  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] blocked arsenicCatnip  [AC] at 12:10 --  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering arsenicCatnip  [AC] at 12:10 --

\-- arachnidsGrip  [AG] began trolling ectoBiologist  [EB] at 13:16 --  
EB: i have suddenly become very popular.  
AG: I just wanted to say congratul8tions.  
EB: he is not my boyfriend!  
AG: Who's not your m8sprit?  
AG: I meant for not getting murdered 8y the living em8odiment of a shout pole.  
EB: what is a mbsprit?  
AG: Did Karkat not have The Talk with you?  
EB: i am still waiting for my dad to have the talk with me.  
AG: Don't look at me! I'm not expl8ining troll quadrants to you.  
AG: I just can't 8elieve you're suicidal enough to risk death 8y waking Karkat up.  
EB: i told sollux i would bring him coffee.  
EB: it is not my fault he lives with a walking aneurysm.  
AG: I thought I saw you two walking out of our 8uilding together.  
AG: Oh, is that why your first comment was a8out him not being your m8sprit?  
EB: whatever that is, i am pretty sure he is not it.  
AG: No one said he was.  
EB: really?  
AG: No.  
AG: Everyone's talking a8out it.  
EB: god damn it.  
AG: It's no use g8tting mad at me.  
AG: I'm just the messenger.  
EB: who spreads the news.  
AG: Ok8y, you got me.  
AG: Now what are you going to do a8out it? :::;)  
EB: save those winks for tavros.  
AG: You saw that, huh.  
EB: everyone saw it.  
EB: i am pretty sure satellites saw your boobs from space.  
AG: J8hn!  
AG: You ought to 8e ash8med of yourself.  
AG: What would Sollux say if he knew?  
EB: nothing, probably.  
EB: what the hell did you need to talk to tavros for, anyway?  
AG: I asked him if Equius had any plans to recali8br8 his legs.  
AG: My arm's 8eing a 8itch right now.  
EB: just like the girl it is attached to. :P  
AG: Hahahahahahahaha, v8ry funny, Eg8ert.  
EB: i don't like how you're typing right now.  
AG: You shouldn't. >::::D  
EB: i am going to stop talking to you now.  
AG: W8!  
EB: what?  
AG: 8efore you go, I wanted to wish you good luck on your d8 tonight.  
EB: how the hell do you even know about that?  
AG: It's like I said. Everyone's talking a8out it.  
EB: i really don't have any goddamn privacy, do i.  
AG: Not since you were six sweeps old and s8ved your plan8t from 8eing o8liter8ted.  
EB: i didn't ask for that press coverage.  
EB: and it is not a d8!  
EB: it is not even a d7.  
EB: apparently to you it is a d6.  
AG: I don't get it.  
EB: because you seem to think this is a fucking game.  
EB: OOOOOOOOH. BUUUUUUUURN!  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] blocked arachnidsGrip  [AG] at 13:31 --  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering arachnidsGrip  [AG] at 13:31 --

\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] began trolling ectoBiologist  [EB] at 14:58 --  
EB: oh my god.  
EB: what now?  
CG: WHAT DID I DO?  
EB: nothing yet.  
EB: there have just been way too many people messaging me in the last few hours.  
CG: I WANTED TO APOLOGIZE.  
EB: that is a new one.  
CG: I'M BARELY SENTIENT THAT EARLY IN THE MORNING.  
EB: trust me when i tell you: everyone knows.  
EB: i thought you were in class.  
CG: WHAT, YOU'VE NEVER MESSAGED ANYONE WHILE YOU WERE IN CLASS BEFORE?  
CG: FUCKING BROWNNOSING PIECE OF SHIT.  
CG: THAT'S NOT EVEN THE POINT.  
CG: I WAS TOLD YOU ASKED MY ROOMMATE OUT TO DINNER TONIGHT.  
EB: told by said roommate?  
CG: NO.  
EB: did nepeta tell you?  
CG: JADE, ACTUALLY.  
CG: THAT'S NOT THE POINT EITHER.  
EB: that is the second time you have said that and still not gotten to the point.  
CG: IF YOU WOULD SHUT YOUR FUCKING BULGEHOLSTER FOR LONG ENOUGH FOR ME TO FISTFUCK YOUR AUDITORY CANALS OPEN, THEN MAYBE I'D HAVE THE CHANCE TO TELL YOU.  
CG: WHY DIDN'T YOU INVITE ME?  
EB: because you weren't in the quad at 9 this morning.  
EB: also if i had texted you about it, you probably would have found some way to strangle me with my own intestines through my phone.  
CG: YOU COULD ALWAYS INVITE ME RIGHT NOW.  
CG: WHERE ARE WE GOING?  
EB: we are going to hong kong royale.  
EB: we as in ME and SOLLUX.  
EB: as in, NOT YOU.  
CG: OH, PLEASE.  
CG: YOU'D TRIP OVER YOUR OWN FUCKING SNEAKER GIRDLES IF I WASN'T THERE TO HOLD YOUR HAND.  
EB: that is some pretty piss poor handholding if i don't even know what a mbsprite is.  
CG: A WHAT NOW?  
EB: vriska said m8sprite. i assumed it stood for a b.  
CG: MATESPRIT.  
EB: oh.  
EB: that doesn't make any more sense than what i said.  
CG: THE 8 WAS FOR AN EIGHT SOUND, FUCKKNUCKLE.  
CG: AND THERE'S NOT EVEN AN E AT THE END.  
EB: how was i supposed to know that?  
EB: the guy who said he would tell me about troll culture got too red in the face to even explain to me what a bucket was for.  
EB: (i am talking about you.)  
CG: I REGRET CREATING YOU.  
EB: you say that every day.  
CG: THE BEAUTIFUL THING ABOUT IT IS THAT IT'S NEVER ANY LESS TRUE.  
CG: I DON'T WANT TO FUCKING GET INTO THIS RIGHT NOW.  
CG: THIS ISN'T A GOOD TIME.  
EB: because you were the one that started messaging me in the middle of your class?  
CG: BECAUSE THERE WILL NEVER BE A GOOD TIME.  
CG: WHY DON'T YOU EVER ASK ANYONE ELSE ABOUT THIS SHIT?  
EB: who else would i ask?  
CG: I DON'T KNOW, MAYBE THE GUY YOU ASKED OUT ON A DATE TONIGHT.  
EB: oh my god ew.  
CG: WHAT?  
EB: i am not asking sollux where troll babies come from.  
CG: WHY THE FUCK NOT?  
EB: because he is the goddamn reason i need to know your cultural conventions in the first place.  
EB: like what a matesprite is.  
CG: MATESPRIT.  
EB: shut up.  
CG: ASK KANKRI.  
EB: you have to be kidding.  
EB: i would rather not die of old age before that cankerous windbag finally gets around to explaining why trolls developed the quadrant system in the first place.  
CG: OKAY. FINE. POINT TAKEN.  
EB: seriously, he is worse than you sometimes.  
CG: THAT'S OFFENSIVE.  
CG: I'M OFFENDED.  
EB: see? exactly like that.  
CG: DON'T FUCKING COMPARE ME TO HIM.  
CG: WHAT ABOUT PORRIM?  
EB: that might work!  
EB: except then she might try to illustrate everything with hands on examples.  
CG: WHICH IS A BAD THING WHY?  
EB: i thought she was seeing someone.  
CG: NOT REALLY.  
CG: SHE AND LATULA HAVE MATING INCLINATIONS BUT IT'S NOT BLACK OR RED.  
EB: what the hell is mating inclinations?  
EB: are you just trying to say that they are sleeping together?  
CG: I DON'T THINK THERE'S ANY SLEEPING GOING ON WHEN THEY'RE TOGETHER  
CG: IF YOU CATCH MY DRIFT.  
EB: where i am from, we call that friends with benefits.  
EB: or fuck buddies.  
CG: FINE. PORRIM AND LATULA ARE FUCK BUDDIES.  
CG: IT SOUNDS SO CRUDE.  
EB: that would be because it is.  
EB: i am not getting into... whatever that is.  
CG: SO YOU WON'T ASK KANKRI AND YOU WON'T ASK PORRIM.  
CG: YOU COULD STILL ASK THE ROSE HUMAN.  
EB: no.  
EB: no way.  
EB: no fucking way.  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM NOW?  
EB: none of your business.  
EB: i just... would rather not ask her, ok?  
EB: i am having flashbacks to lectures she illustrated with smuppets.  
CG: NO, YOU CAN'T BORROW MY THINKPAN BLEACH.  
EB: do trolls have to use euphemisms for everything? jeez.  
CG: THAT'S JUST HOW IT TRANSLATES FROM ALTERNIAN TO ENGLISH, FUCKNUGGET.  
EB: ok. fine.  
EB: i will make you a deal.  
CG: IF THE DEAL ISN'T LET THE POOR TROLL ACTUALLY TAKE NOTES IN LECTURE, I'M NOT INTERESTED.  
EB: i thought you started this conversation?  
CG: I'M ABOUT TO BLOCK YOU.  
EB: you have been saying that since i was 13.  
EB: at least hear me out before you dismiss me out of hand.  
EB: ... karkat?  
EB: are you still there?  
CG: I'M HEARING YOU OUT.  
CG: THIS WHOLE LISTENING THING SUCKS SHAME GLOBES.  
EB: you are an asshole.  
CG: MAYBE THAT'S WHY EVERY INTERACTION I EVER HAVE WITH YOU LEAVES ME FEELING LIKE I JUST GOT THOROUGHLY FUCKED.  
EB: your friendship means a lot to me too.  
EB: listen.  
EB: why don't we just exchange culture a little bit at a time?  
CG: SO IF I HAD JUST TOLD YOU WHAT A DATE MEANS, THIS CONVERSATION WOULD HAVE BEEN OVER ALREADY?  
CG: I HATE YOU MARGINALLY MORE THAN I HATE MYSELF.  
EB: whoa there!  
EB: hate is an awfully strong word.  
CG: I KNOW.  
CG: THAT'S WHY I USED IT.  
EB: ooh, karkat, ooh. i am so hate seduced.  
EB: just shut up and tell me what going out to dinner means when it is with a guy whose tongue has been inside your mouth.  
CG: I HAVE TO KNOW SOMETHING FIRST.  
EB: if the question is "what are you wearing right now," i am not answering that.  
EB: like, ever.  
EB: i am not going to let you get off to thinking about your best friend making out with your roommate.  
CG: WHAT, LIKE RIGHT NOW?  
CG: DID YOU MISS THE PART WHERE I'M IN CLASS?  
EB: oh my god you are so fucking gross!!  
EB: you and nepeta both.  
EB: you actually get off to your friends getting laid.  
CG: EVEN TROLLS HAVE FETISHES.  
EB: which i don't want to hear about.  
CG: THEN STOP DISTRACTING ME.  
CG: WHO KISSED WHO FIRST?  
EB: me, i guess.  
EB: i kissed him.  
CG: AND THEN YOU ASKED HIM OUT TO DINNER?  
EB: yeah.  
EB: and even though i would really prefer it if it was just the two of us, i am starting to think it would be better if you came too.  
CG: ON ANOTHER TROLL'S FLUSHED DATE?  
EB: it is not a date!!!  
CG: STOP SAYING THAT.  
CG: IT'S NOT TRUE.  
EB: ok, fine.  
EB: it is a date.  
EB: fuck. FUCK.  
EB: so, uh.  
EB: ... what now?  
EB: i really don't want to screw this up.  
CG: THERE'S NO WAY I'M TAGGING ALONG.  
CG: NO MATTER HOW MUCH I WANT TO WATCH YOU CRASH AND BURN.  
CG: THE TWO OF YOU AREN'T GOING TO NEED AN AUSPISTICE.  
EB: a what now?  
CG: I'LL GIVE YOU THE TWEETBEASTS AND THE BUZZBEASTS TALK LATER.  
EB: i am laughing so hard i think i might actually, physically fall out of my chair.  
CG: NO, I MEAN  
CG: MY CLASS JUST LET OUT  
CG: YOU NEED TO KNOW THIS SHIT  
CG: SHOULD I JUST COME OVER AND TELL IT TO YOUR FACE?  
EB: it would be really nice if you didn't.  
EB: i got maybe four hours of sleep last night, if that.  
EB: i want to take a nap before i have to clean up nice.  
CG: I'LL COME OVER THEN.  
EB: dear god do i loathe you.  
EB: if you come over, i will staple your balls to our ceiling fan.  
CG: FINE.  
CG: KEEP ME ON CALL.  
CG: I WANT A DETAILED PLAY-BY-PLAY OF HOW YOU'LL UTTERLY FAIL YOUR FIRST FLUSHED DATE.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] ceased trolling ectoBiologist  [EB] at 15:47 --

\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] began trolling turntechGodhead  [TG] at 15:49 --  
CG: CONFIRMED.  
TG: by which one  
CG: JOHN.  
TG: egbert wouldnt lie about something like that  
TG: cant believe theyre going out without us  
CG: WELL, IT'S NOT LIKE ANYONE KNOWS.  
TG: are you thinking what im thinking  
CG: YES.  
CG: FUCK YES.  
TG: okay well  
TG: let me talk to him  
TG: see what their plans are  
TG: ill get back to you  
CG: HURRY, YOU CANKEROUS FUCKWHISTLE.  
TG: always nice talking to you vantas  
\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist  [CG] at 15:59 --

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 16:00 --  
EB: fuck off, i am trying to sleep.  
TG: is what i should have said last night when you fell into my bed  
EB: point taken.  
EB: what do you want?  
EB: are you going to tease me about my new boyfriend, too?  
EB: which, he is not.  
TG: and you sounded so excited last night  
TG: you were all like  
TG: he put his dick in my butt and it was love at first sight  
EB: i didn't say anything like that at all!  
TG: im embellishing  
TG: its what i wish you wouldve said to make waking up worthwhile  
EB: well, that isn't what happened.  
TG: what about this date i hear you have  
EB: oh, god.  
EB: who told you?  
EB: was it jade?  
EB: i am going to kill her.  
TG: kill vantas instead  
EB: ugh.  
EB: you and him are both way too emotionally invested in something that has nothing to do with you.  
EB: either of you.  
TG: i beg to differ  
TG: i thought we had something special here  
TG: didnt last night mean anything to you  
EB: of course it did, sweetie!  
EB: seriously though, you are my roommate.  
EB: we do have something special, i guess.  
TG: and youre not going to tell your own roommate when you have a date?  
EB: it is not a date!  
EB: karkat was trying to tell me otherwise, but he is wrong.  
EB: so wrong.  
EB: maybe even the most wrong.  
TG: do you want to get to second base tonight  
EB: duh.  
TG: its a date  
EB: shit.  
TG: when are you picking him up  
EB: i have no idea.  
EB: probably right after he gets off work.  
EB: so maybe 6:30?  
TG: when are you gonna be back  
EB: i don't know!  
EB: why do you keep asking these questions?  
TG: because the last time you came in late i woke up to you canoodling me  
EB: i am sorry for waking you up, ok?  
EB: i was going to get you coffee this morning to make up for it, but you were gone before i woke up.  
TG: thats so sweet  
TG: dont make me puke  
EB: ok, i won't ever try to do anything nice for you ever again.  
TG: pukes  
EB: you are so gross.  
TG: seriously though when do you think youll be back  
EB: seriously, though, why do you even want to know?  
TG: maybe i wanna bring somebody back to our room put on some martin gaye and get laid  
EB: hehehehehehehehe!  
EB: oh man.  
EB: that is great.  
TG: what  
EB: thinking about you actually getting laid.  
TG: ew are you getting off to it  
TG: now whos the gross one  
EB: i am trying to sleep!  
TG: which is code for youre in bed grinding your crankshaft to your best bro getting his dipstick wet  
TG: thats so comforting  
TG: what a true bro  
EB: no, i mean it, i am trying to take a nap.  
EB: i am too busy worrying about what to order tonight without risking a trip to the emergency room.  
TG: so you dont know when youll be back  
EB: who knows?  
EB: maybe it will go so well, i won't even come back to our room tonight.  
EB: ;)  
TG: i cannot unsee that emoticon  
TG: pukes into your shoes  
EB: so it is only hot if you are the one having sex?  
EB: i see how it is.  
EB: where even are you right now?  
TG: strider hall  
EB: it is not enough for you that your bro made a billion dollar grant to absu to get an entire goddamn building named after him.  
EB: but you have to spend all your time there, too?  
TG: damn straight  
TG: state of the art equipment  
TG: soundproof rooms  
TG: an entire library of vinyls  
EB: it is like your nerdvana.  
EB: if you love it so much, why don't you take your little someone back there?  
TG: the soundproof rooms dont have beds  
EB: oh, right.  
EB: otherwise you would just sleep there.  
TG: i come back to see you  
EB: how touching.  
EB: now leave me alone, i need my beauty sleep.  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 16:32 --

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist  [CG] at 16:33 --  
TG: 6:30  
CG: SEE YOU THEN.  
CG: YOUR PLACE OR MINE?  
TG: not sure it matters  
TG: although i have to say i think rufioh is a little nicer about the excessive noise fines  
CG: MAYBE IT'S BECAUSE YOUR HATCHMATE IS YOUR RESIDENT ASSISTANT.  
TG: nah  
TG: nitrams just a chill dude  
TG: but hey heres an idea  
TG: neither of our dorms  
CG: I DON'T LIKE WHERE THIS IS GOING.  
TG: i didnt say we wouldnt be hanging out  
TG: im just saying that strider hall has soundproof practice rooms  
CG: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?  
CG: I HAVE A HARD ENOUGH TIME GETTING YOU OUT OF THAT BROODING CAVERN AS IT IS.  
CG: I'M NOT ABOUT TO LET YOU BARRICADE YOURSELF IN THERE.  
CG: AGAIN.  
TG: fine  
TG: come over here  
CG: AND RISK ROSE?  
TG: my stereos nicer than yours  
CG: WHAT IF JOHN COMES BACK?  
TG: cmon man  
TG: unclench a little  
TG: besides itll take them at least 15 minutes to even drive to hong kong royale  
TG: thats plenty of time for you  
CG: SHUT YOUR FACEGASH.  
TG: make me  
CG: INSUFFERABLE PRICK.  
TG: you are a sad strange little man  
TG: and you have my pity  
TG: farewell  
\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist  [CG] at 16:43 --

\-- tentacleTherapist  [TT] began pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 16:39 --  
TT: Hello, John.  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] blocked tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 16:39 --  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 16:39 --

\-- tentacleTherapist  [TT] began pestering gardenGnostic  [GG] at 16:41 --  
TT: Hello, Jade.  
GG: hey rose!!  
GG: are you coming to our thing tonight?  
TT: As appealing as it is to learn how to use high-powered weaponry to blow away the patriarchy, I'm going to have to give you a rain check.  
GG: aww thats too bad :(  
TT: As a matter of curiosity, do you know when you'll be back?  
GG: i dont really know  
GG: it shouldnt take more than a few hours to check out the range though!  
TT: That's good to hear.  
TT: I have plans for later this evening.  
TT: As does John, I hear.  
GG: yeah hes going out to dinner with that person from his compsci class :D  
TT: Sollux?  
GG: is there another person from his compsci class??  
TT: He could have been going out with Dirk.  
TT: Or Roxy. He's mentioned her dimples before.  
GG: aw theyd be so cute together!!  
GG: but no  
GG: roxys coming with me to the range  
GG: johns taking sollux out for chinese i think  
TT: Wow.  
TT: Risking death by anaphylactic shock just to impress a date.  
GG: its not that big of a deal!  
GG: every restaurant in town already knows hes no peanut boy :P  
TT: That's good to hear.  
TT: I wonder why he didn't tell any of us about it.  
GG: maybe he doesnt want to feel any pressure??  
TT: I understand that.  
TT: What I don't understand is that he blocked me after I merely greeted him.  
GG: well rose  
GG: johns a pretty private person  
TT: I thought he would have outgrown that by now.  
TT: Remember when we were thirteen and his dad homeschooled him for the rest of the school year so he wouldn't have to deal with reporters?  
GG: john asked his dad to do that!  
GG: and anyway you dont want to make his dad mad  
GG: which is what those reporters were doing  
TT: Although his father is very attractive when he's angry.  
TT: So much masculine aggression.  
GG: i know right!!!  
GG: hubba hubba ;)  
TT: That still doesn't explain why John doesn't want to talk to me today.  
GG: i think he just wants to keep this to himself!  
GG: hes been getting pestered a lot today about it  
GG: either he doesnt think its that serious  
GG: or he doesnt want to screw this up :(  
GG: my moneys on the second one  
TT: I suppose he does have an onerous burden.  
TT: He is the Boy Who Lived, after all.  
GG: hes not harry potter!!  
TT: I never joke about wizards.  
TT: I do wish he'd tell me what was going on, though.  
GG: dont worry about it!!  
GG: youre still friends no matter whats gone down between the two of you  
GG: im sure hell tell you when hes ready :)  
GG: so you have other plans for a friday night huh?  
GG: do you have your own hot date??? ;)  
TT: That's confidential.  
GG: is she cute?????  
TT: That's confidential.  
GG: have you two done the dingles yet???????  
TT: That's confidential.  
GG: and now you know how it feels to john when he gets the third degree :P  
TT: I think I've just learned a very valuable lesson.  
GG: i should probably let you go  
GG: you have your own whatever it is tonight  
GG: and i have to get a headcount for our field trip  
GG: have fun tonight!!!  
TT: You too, darling.  
\-- tentacleTherapist  [TT] ceased pestering gardenGnostic  [GG] at 17:01 --

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering twinArmageddons  [TA] at 18:15 --  
EB: how is it going?  
TA: plea2e get me out of here.  
TA: iif ii have two blow on another priinter cartriidge ii'm goiing two blow my braiin2 out.  
EB: hey, how come you say brains and not thinkpan?  
TA: becau2e ii'm not a fuckiing tool.  
EB: thank god for that.  
EB: fifteen more minutes, then i will be there to pick you up.  
TA: fiifteen miinutes is fiifteen two many.  
EB: it will be over before you know it.  
EB: you can do it!  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering twinArmageddons  [TA] at 18:18 --

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist  [CG] at 18:29 --  
TG: the cluckbeast has flown the coop  
CG: GOT IT.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead  [TG] at 18:30 --

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering carcinoGeneticist  [CG] at 19:03 --  
EB: he had his hand on my leg the entire time i was driving over.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] is an idle chum! --  
EB: you are not even here, but you said you wanted to hear about it, so by god you are going to hear about it.  
EB: they gave us a table by the back.  
EB: should i pay?  
EB: i guess i should, i am the one who had this brilliant idea.  
EB: he keeps talking about his lusus and i am just kind of smiling and nodding.  
EB: is that kind of like his dad?  
EB: it sounds like his dad.  
EB: OKAY IT IS DEFINITELY HIS DAD BECAUSE HE ASKED TO MEET MINE.

\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] began trolling twinArmageddons  [TA] at 19:48 --  
CG: I CAN'T REALLY TALK BECAUSE I'M BUSY BUT HOLY SHIT.  
CG: WAY TO LOOK THIRSTY.  
TA: ii'm not thiir2ty.  
TA: there'2 enough mountaiin dew here for both of u2.  
CG: THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEAN AND YOU KNOW IT.  
TA: we were talkiing about lu2u2e2.  
CG: LUSII.  
TA: that look2 dumb iin my quiirk 2o ii'm not 2ayiing that.  
CG: SO DOES THE OTHER WAY.  
CG: JUST SAY IT.  
TA: fiine, lu2iiii.  
TA: ii hate you 2o much riight now.  
CG: NO, YOU DON'T.  
CG: LISTEN, I'M ABOUT TO HAVE MY PHONE BROKEN, BUT.  
CG: LET. IT. GO.  
CG: HE ALREADY LIKES YOU. DON'T PUSH IT.  
TA: got iit.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] ceased trolling twinArmageddons  [TA] at 19:53 --

EB: apparently that was a joke and i shouldn't have freaked out about it.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] is an idle chum! --  
EB: okay, if you are idle again, that means you have been here listening the whole time and just not saying anything.  
EB: i can't tell if that is better or worse than you actually talking back.  
EB: dinner is going good though.  
EB: i ordered for him and he likes it, which is good.  
EB: it is just so easy to talk to him.  
EB: half the time when he is talking about computer shit i just kind of zone out and listen to the tone of his voice.  
EB: it is so cool that he gets so excited about stuff.  
EB: and he does this thing where he licks his lips sometimes and his tongue goes over his teeth and oh.  
EB: should we get dessert?  
EB: we are getting dessert.  
EB: i don't care that i'm a poor college kid on a budget.  
EB: i am getting him dessert.  
EB: mostly because i like watching him lick the spoon.  
EB: also he really likes sweet food.  
EB: god he is so cute.  
EB: karkat help me your roommate is really cute and attractive and wow.  
EB: holy shit i did not know he could do that.  
EB: CHECK PLEASE OH MY GOD.  
EB: i think i am breaking land speed records trying to get to the quarry.  
EB: I AM GOING TO NEED TO MESSAGE YOU LATER I MIGHT BE GETTING TO SECOND BASE TONIGHT!!  
CG: WHAT'S SECOND BASE?  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] is an idle chum! --  
CG: IS THAT SPORTS?  
CG: BECAUSE THAT DOESN'T SOUND LIKE SPORTS.  
CG: I'VE JUST BEEN TOLD THAT'S NOT SPORTS.  
CG: I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE DEFILING MY ROOMMATE IN A ROCK FORMATION.  
CG: YOU'RE DISGUSTING. I CAN'T EVEN TALK TO YOU RIGHT NOW.  
CG: WHICH WORKS OUT, BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT TALKING BACK.  
EB: shut up.  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] blocked carcinoGeneticist  [CG] at 22:22 --  
CG: I GUESS I DESERVED THAT.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] ceased trolling ectoBiologist  [EB] at 22:23 --

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 22:26 --  
TG: GO GET EM TIGER  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] blocked turntechGodhead  [TG] at 22:27 --  
TG: i guess i deserved that  
\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 22:27 --

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 23:53 --  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] unblocked turntechGodhead  [TG] at 23:53 --  
EB: sorry about that.  
TG: you gonna be back anytime this century  
EB: maybe not until after curfew.  
TG: curfews 2 am  
EB: i know.  
TG: ill tell lalonde  
EB: thanks.  
EB: it takes a real bro to put his nuts on the line for his best friend.  
TG: pukes in your hair  
EB: i really appreciate it.  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 23:59 --

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 00:02 --  
TG: hey egberts getting laid so hes gonna get in a little late  
\-- tentacleTherapist  [TT] is an idle chum! --  
TG: okay but if youre afk  
TG: and harleys not here  
TG: and egberts gettin some  
TG: then who has the condoms?  
\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 00:07 --


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex. Hover over text for translations.

Dave has his headphones jammed over his ears, one hand hovering over his Macbook trackpad, the other doodling idly over a tablet. (What? His setup needs two inputs.) The audio input is still loading, so for right now, he’s just listening to shitty ‘80s remixed synthpop. It’s delightfully hideous, especially with the sped-up rap lyrics over it. This program’s got to be better than the one he’s been using—anything would be better than that piece of shit—but so far, it doesn’t really seem all that audacious.

What is, though, is the five-and-a-half feet of troll that barges through his dorm room door and slams it shut behind him just as quickly. At least Karkat’s learned by now that the only way to get Dave’s attention through those noise-cancelling beasts is to make a fucking racket. “Are you actually going to put your work down for five fucking seconds and pay attention to someone other than yourself? Or am I going to have to go get a crowbar to help you pry your own face out of your waste chute? Because trust me, it’s that far up your ass right now.”

Dave doesn’t look up from his work; his .mp3 files are finally in the editor, and he’s not about to quit when he’s this far ahead. “Do you ever shut up?”

“Sometimes, yes. Right now? No. You’re like a fucking barkbeast. Do you suck your own bone bulge, too, while you’re down there licking your asshole? That’s probably the only attention you get on your freakish human genitals.”

“Oh my gog,” Dave mutters, rubbing his temples with his hands before shoving his headphones off.

“Gog?” Thar she blows. Dave turns around in his desk chair, threading his hands together behind his head and kicking back to enjoy the show. “Gog ain’t no country I ever heard of! They speak English in Gog?”

Dave sneers at him. “What?”

“English, motherfucker, do you speak it?”

“Oh my _fucking_ gog,” Dave amends his earlier pleadings.

Karkat lunges forward, taking a fistful of Dave’s shirt in hand; fabric rips, and the strength of his grip forces Dave out of his chair. “Say gog again,” he screams out. “Say. Gog. Again. I dare you, I double-dare you, motherfucker, say gog again!”

“I’m never watching Earth cinema with you again,” Dave says, rolling his eyes behind his shades once he finds his balance.

“Excuse you, you culturally illiterate fuckmongrel, we do have Troll Samuel L. Jackson. And if you want someone to blame for the Earth cinema, try your taintchafing blister of a roommate.”

Karkat’s phone goes off with the trill of an incoming Pesterchum message. “Don’t answer that,” Dave says before the troll can get his hand into his jeans. He yanks the plug to his headphones out of his speakers, flooding the room with his EDM eardrum-fucking mix. Yeah, the one he and Karkat always fuck to.

Maybe _always_ is a little presumptuous. This is only, what, a month and some into school, so there hasn’t been much time. Dave makes time, though. Kind of good at that, all things considered. It helps that Karkat’s an overeager little bitch that uses sex like some weird kind of stress release. Not often enough, in Dave’s opinion. He usually has this weird reticent attitude when it comes to doing the dirty, which rubs Dave the wrong way and usually evaporates as soon as there's teeth and nails involved, but hey. Both of them are getting laid. Neither of them get much latitude to complain about it.

From his five-inch altitude advantage, Dave leans down in an exaggerated gesture so he can kiss Karkat on the mouth. As predicted, Karkat starts growling somewhere deep in his chest. He’s like an animated black cloud crayon scribble like this, so much irritation packed into such a small frame. All the same, the troll opens his mouth for him, blooming slick and warm like a hothouse flower. A really weird flower, with flesh petals and teeth and maybe he actually spits fire like those fucking flowers from Super Mario—

Karkat keeps Dave at his level by twisting his fists in Dave’s hair, and Dave’s inner monologue goes blessedly silent for five seconds.

His outer monologue picks up the slack a little bit, the slightest hint of a moan starting in the back of his throat, and Karkat’s just determined to ruin this shirt, isn’t he, his hands impatient as they skim down Dave’s front. “Hey, whoa, watch it, Scratchy,” Dave goads him, “you really wanna buy me a whole new wardrobe?”

“How about you take your fucking clothes off,” Karkat growls, breath hot against Dave’s lips, “and I won’t do it for you.” Dave can feel his claws through a thin layer of cotton. “Please.”

“See, now, that’s all you had to say,” Dave drawls, easy and carefree, and shrugs his shirt off. He’s thin, a little gangly, a lot pasty, but he’s never been ashamed of his body, really. It’s just a flesh prison for this burdensome brain of his. Most of the time, he wishes the fucking thing had come with an owner’s manual, but when Karkat does that thing, where he presses the pad of his fingers against the thick pink scar that bifurcates his ribcage, carefully keeping his claws away… it’s not so bad, really.

Karkat’s teeth make up for it, though, nipping at Dave’s lower lip, and even that glancing contact has him bleeding onto the troll’s tongue. “Pants,” Karkat insists, though he doesn’t make a move to remove them himself.

“Think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” Dave whispers back, pushing his words into Karkat’s mouth with the point of his tongue. “We got all night, young blood.”

Any irritation Karkat was going to spew at Dave slowing things down, he swallows down when Dave uses that little nickname. “How much time?”

“All of it.” Dave can’t make it literal, not as easily as he used to, but that’s what it feels like. This isn’t going to be like those other times. No need to rush. No reason to frantically hump against one another until they finish, sticky and unsatisfied, before the inevitable return of a roommate. Still, Dave’s hands itch. His lips tingle. His scalp prickles, the fine hairs of his forearms standing on end. Not now. Not now not now not now and this is as much to tease Karkat as to make himself wait it out. “On the bed. I’m gonna ravish the shit outta you.”

“You’d better,” is Karkat’s half-hearted retort. He gets on Dave’s mattress, all right, but not without pulling Dave down on top of him by his belt loops.

“You’re gonna feel like you’re on the cover of a romance novel by the time I’m done with you,” Dave promises, propping himself up over Karkat by locking his elbows. “Fabio nip slips all up in this bitch.”

“You’re disgusting,” Karkat says affectionately. He loops his arms around Dave’s shoulders, pulls him down, and their bodies press together while Karkat presses insistent chaste kisses to the corners of Dave’s mouth.

As long as Karkat doesn’t mind having a hundred and ten pounds of Strider weight on his chest, Dave takes the opportunity to trace the outline of Karkat’s body with his fingertips. His scalp first, and Karkat gasps in when Dave just misses his horns on this pass. The slightly pointed shape of his ears, and the trace by his fingertips is followed by the flat of his tongue. Dave can feel Karkat’s pulse in his throat, thrumming hot and heavy, and he follows the beat down his body. “This is comin’ off,” Dave tells him, tugging at the collar of his long-sleeve shirt.

“Why?” When Dave pulls back, Karkat’s thick eyebrows are knotting together.

Jesus, he’s gonna hurt himself if he keeps thinking. “Dude,” Dave says, “it’s not like we have to fuck with our clothes on, you’re just an impatient little bitch.”

“Look who’s talking, Mister… smooth talker,” Karkat fumbles. It doesn’t help that Dave’s pushing up the bottom hem of his shirt and doodling with his fingertips as he goes.

“Ugh, I can’t take you anywhere,” Dave laments as Karkat squirms under him. “Try to give you a nice four-course meal, real gastronomical fare, and all you wanna do is shove it all down your ignorance funnel at once.”

“Ignorance funnel?”

“Yes, I know troll anatomy, now try not to faint.” Once Dave gets Karkat’s shirt untangled from his wrists, the troll’s half-naked under him. Now that he’s like this, it’s harder for Dave to forget he’s basically fucking an alien here. No nipples, muscles cut into planes he doesn’t quite recognize. A third nonfunctional set of vestigial limbs, now no more than juts of black keratin protruding from the bottom curves of Karkat’s ribcage. And his skin is tinted this delicate rubicund shade, heat rising to meet Dave’s touch wherever his hands roam. “My point is, I’m tryna give you a motherfuckin’ feast here, and you’re just gonna gorge on it and then puke it up right afterwards. Straight into the shitter.”

“Okay, English is my second language,” Karkat reminds him, “and I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”

Guess it’s time to cut the shit. “Just… fuckin’ enjoy this, would ya? Slow down. There’s nobody around that needs your help.” Savior complex. Welcome to knight class. “Nobody’s trying to get your attention. Except for me. Egbert’s gonna be gone for the foreseeable future. Even Captor doesn’t need you right—”

Karkat’s phone goes off again, with a different chime this time. “Not true,” he mutters, reaching down between their bodies to get into his pocket. Dave hisses when the back of his hand glances against his crotch. Well, if he absolutely _must_ check his texts right now, Dave’s determined to distract him, feeling out Karkat’s pulse point at his throat with his tongue. “Ugh, I have to do damage control.”

“You get two minutes,” Dave murmurs into his skin. He doesn’t need a stopwatch to time it—the endless ticking in his head is a good enough substitute. His internal clock keeps winding tighter but never lets him lose his sense of time, even as he wants to dilate it out, make this last. He runs his nails along Karkat’s vestigial legs and the troll bucks under him, even as he keeps trying to text his roommate. “What’s so goddamn important that you have to answer this now?”

Karkat just answers him with another question. “What’s the human term for desperate for sex?”

“Karkat Vantas.” Karkat slaps him, yanking the shades off his face, and Dave just laughs. “Thirsty. Why? Captor treating Egbert like a tall drink of water?”

“Something like that.” Still, he keeps texting, even though Dave’s starting to bite at his chest, rake his nails down his stomach to reach the waistband of his black jeans. “Stop that, it’s distracting.”

“You got exactly forty-six seconds to put that down. Forty-three. Forty-two.”                

Karkat sighs out when Dave digs his teeth into his hip, but doesn’t do much more. “Just give me a minute! This may be fucking horseshit but it isn’t easy. Do you know how long I worked to get those two together?”

“I don’t want to know,” Dave preempts that little conversational detour, and starts working on the button and fly of Karkat’s jeans. With him this distracted, he can’t exactly complain. Not as vociferously , anyway. He even lifts his hips to help Dave get off his clothes. “By the time I get your socks off, you better be off the fuckin’ phone or I swear to God I’m going to throw it across the room.”

“Cool your jets.” Karkat reaches for Dave’s desk to put his phone down, but doesn’t quite make it; it falls on the floor, still vibrating up a storm. Before he can say anything else, Dave gets his tongue right up against the jut of his hipbone, licks along it hot and heavy. “Fuck… how come I’m naked as the day I hatched and you’re still caging your bone bulge in those… things?”

“Hey. ‘Those things’ are very much in fashion—and if you wanna see my pump-action jizz rifle that bad, get in there yourself.” Karkat’s not even hard. Dave’s never seen him like this before. At least he knows better, knows that yes, there is a donger that’s going to come out eventually, but it’s still weird looking at this guy’s crotch and seeing nothing but nothing. Well, there’s a line of black plating, no wider and longer than two fingers, that starts between his legs and keeps tight to his crotch as it curves up between his hips, ending in a point… but that doesn’t mean anything on its own. Stupid freaky alien wing-wong.

It’ll come out eventually, though. Dave could help it along by licking along the edges of the plating, make Karkat swell beneath, but he doesn’t exactly want the thing to pop out into his unprotected eye—and Karkat’s dingle is oversensitive anyway, no sense in encouraging it. They have plenty of time, and if Dave starts blowing him, this’ll be over way earlier than it has to be. “Just strip already, you belligerent waste of air,” Karkat sighs out, clawing at either side of Dave’s treasure trail.

“Not as long as you’re doing that.” His claws are sharp enough to cut skin, if wielded at the wrong angle, and this is a little too close to being wrong. To get ahead of things, Dave wrangles a hand between their bodies, thumbs open his button, and then Karkat’s right there, too, hooking his fingers into his waistband and pulling down and hey there. Time for his trouser titan to come out to play.

Karkat doesn’t touch it right away. Dave makes up for the lack of contact by surging up Karkat’s body, rolling his hips down, rutting against the troll beneath him. Karkat lets out this beautiful little trilling sound, throwing back his head, and it gives Dave room to bite at the space right below his ear, right where he knows he’ll get the best reaction. His teeth can't break skin, but he dents as hard as he can, and Karkat jolts. “What are you, a rainbow-drinker?” Karkat complains, but it’s half-hearted, spoken with an undertone of a moan.

“Only if you want me to be.” Dave forms his hands around Karkat’s hips in insistent parentheses, encouraging Karkat to meet his movements, and the troll doesn’t disappoint, rolling up to meet him like the tide kissing the shore. “Like usual?”

“Fuck yes,” Karkat hisses. Something wet slithers against Dave’s stomach—there it is, there it is. There it is, que golazoo, Karkat’s bone bulge is actually bulging behind the bones. Dave doesn’t have to look down to know what it’s doing: it’s (gross) _engorged_ , what a Lalonde word, and it kind of looks like a less-flexible tentacle if instead of suckers it had spaced-out plating on the underside. It’s at least… proportional? Kind of?

Dave doesn’t exactly have a frame of reference. It’s not like he was a sex god or anything in high school, and even if he had been, it didn’t exactly prepare him for Xenobiology 101. Still, Karkat likes how Dave plays with it well enough, even when Dave’s hand-eye coordination leaves more than a little room for improvement. Dave dips a fingertip into the hollow left behind by the swelling bulge, the place where the plating keeps it trapped against Karkat’s body when he’s at rest, and Karkat jerks under him, head tossing back and forth. “Man, all it takes to get you hard is thinkin’ about a whore thermometer in your chocolate furnace,” Dave whispers seductively into his ear.

Karkat groans, and not entirely sexually. “There is so much I regret,” he says, even as his hips follow the motions of Dave’s fingertips. “I created a cancerous universe full of shitty pink-skinned douchebags, died in a thousand and one spectacular ways including choking on my own vomit while I attempted to fellate my own bulge, snarled a timeline so hard even you couldn’t unfuck it, and yet none of this even comes _close_ to the regret I have for not punching you in the fucking squawkbox the instant I met you so you couldn’t say another grubshitting word to anyone, including me. I—” He gasps when Dave’s hands squeeze his ass, sighs out hard when Dave’s palms press into his thighs. “I hate you, you blithering feculent _shithole_ , would you just fucking—”

“Hate you too,” Dave says easily, and drops his head down to kiss him. One hand comes up to card through Karkat’s hair, finding the base of a horn and massaging while he props himself up by his elbow; the other… well. The other searches between his legs, finding his—ugh, what is it called—shame globes, maybe, those testicle things that only come out to play when he’s about to blow a fat one.

Dave’s fingertip finds something sensitive; Karkat arches under him, involuntarily biting down on Dave’s lip, and he’s bleeding all over again. Thanks for nothing, Fussyfangs. “Don’t touch that,” Karkat growls.

“Not touching it,” Dave reassures him, seeking further back. That was his nook. The first time they hooked up, Dave tried putting his finger in there. His thinking was, if it looked like a vagina and felt like a vagina, it was probably where Dave was supposed to put his dick, and it’s not good practice to put his dick in something his fingers haven’t been in first. Yeah, it felt slick and tight in there, the hole coating him with weird pinkish troll precum.

It isn’t anything like a vagina, though. Apparently Karkat pisses out of there. Dave still feels lucky he didn’t actually lose his finger that day, Karkat’s body had seized up on him so hard. In response, Dave got the special disco remix of IS THIS HOW YOU HUMANS HAVE SEX?, with three choruses of I FIND ANOTHER REASON TO LOATHE YOUR SPECIES WITH EVERY PASSING HOUR. YOU'RE THE BEST EXAMPLE OF HOW FUCKING MORONIC YOUR ENTIRE PHYLUM IS. YOU'RE STUPID. YOU'RE SO FUCKING STUPID., and featuring verses such as DO YOU STICK YOUR KNUCKLE SHUFFLERS INSIDE EVERY ORIFICE YOU COME ACROSS?, WILL MY AURICULAR SPONGE CLOTS BE THE NEXT VICTIMS OF YOUR PERVERSE MATING RITUALS?, and ARE YOU GOING TO TRY TO FUCK MY SNIFFNODES, TOO?, along with a coda of DO NOT BRING YOUR BONE BULGE ANYWHERE CLOSE TO THE VICINITY OF MY GANDERBULBS, YOU SICK FUCK. Lesson learned.

Dave keeps going back, pressing a knuckle to his taint, and Karkat kisses him harder once he realizes where Dave’s headed. Good, because Dave doesn’t want to stop. Dave reaches out for his nightstand, starts pulling on drawers, and yet Karkat yanks him right back down, hands closing insistently around his shoulders and thighs coming up to frame his narrow hips. His eagerness is adorable, if a little inconvenient. “Hey, dick princess, do you want this to hurt?”

“Not particularly,” Karkat admits, but he’s too busy mashing his mouth against Dave’s for any sort of a coherent answer. His hands slip down Dave’s arms, nails leaving eight perfect score marks in his skin.

Shit, that kind of hurts—and his entire crotch is pulsing, too, which isn’t a good sign. Dave hisses, crushing his body to Karkat’s so his poor shoulders can escape the troll’s claws. “That thing,” Dave grits out. “That thing you just did. _Don’t do that thing_.”

“What thing?” Karkat nearly purrs, clawing down Dave’s chest next.

That’s not cute. That just hurts. When Dave looks down, he can see blood, and okay maybe that’s kind of hot but it doesn’t make up for the pain. Not right now, at least. Karkat’s treading a dangerous line between taking Dave to bonertown and leaving him with permanent limp dick. “All right, Claws McCatpiss, you’re gonna cut the shit or I’m gonna tie you up, got it?”

Karkat doesn’t cut the shit, running his nails down Dave’s back. Which gives Dave only one option, really: tie him up. Dave rears up, and Karkat cries out at the loss; to keep him from getting too loud, Dave actually has to clap a hand down over his mouth, stare down at him for a good ten seconds to make sure he gets the message. It isn’t until Karkat nods against his fingers that Dave feels comfortable letting him go. Bondage cord, bondage cord—it’s not exactly like the two of them are particularly suave when it comes to this shit, just kind of having sex by the seat of their pants most of the time, but from the wide set of Karkat’s eyes, the way he lifts his hips from the bed so his bulge can follow the heat of Dave’s body, he’s totally into this.

The only thing coming readily to hand right now is Dave’s backup headphones. It’ll work, probably—the cord’s thick enough, and it has that curlicue shit going on with it so he doesn’t have to teach himself ten different Boy Scout knots to tangle it together and keep Karkat’s hands in place. Besides, if Karkat busts through, he’ll owe Dave replacements, and that’s hilarious.

Karkat looks up at him, thick brows knotting together. When he yanks on his wrists, they don’t come down right away; the headphone cord stresses, but doesn’t break. “Better?”

“Much.” The troll softens as soon as Dave kisses him again, gets back into place—with lube in hand, too. These sheets are going in the wash anyway, so it doesn’t matter if a little buttgrease smears on them while Dave slicks his fingertips. “I don’t exactly like going to the only other guy on campus who knows how to give good sutures so he can reach the places I can’t.”

“Dirk’s given you stitches?”

Only a few. “Why do you sound so surprised?” Asshole’s got claws for days. Dave just feels fortunate none of them have ever gotten infected. Maybe it’s because Karkat always licks up after himself, puts his tongue to every place he’s split skin and clears away messy scabs in favor of clean lines. It might just be another of those weird troll anatomy things. There’s a lot of that going around. It wouldn't surprise Dave if they had fucking painkillers and anti-bac in their goddamn spit.

Thankfully, once Dave gets his fingers up against Karkat’s backdoor, the troll shuts right up. He does this thing, where he sucks in this really long breath and holds it, and Dave swears he can see his vestigial legs vibrating with the effort of keeping it in, not sighing it out so fast. What a little bottom bitch. Once he pushes in, though, Karkat’s entire body locks up—every juncture tense, biting his lip so hard blood spills down his chin. “Holy fucking—”

Dave licks it away as he holds himself in place. He’s not that much of an asshole that he won’t let Karkat get used to it first. “This what you want?”

“—sssshhhhiiiiiiiiiittttttt…” He draws out the expletive like a whistle between his teeth, and as he sighs out, his muscles unfurl, his expression softening, until Dave can drive in to the knuckle and make him keen.

Better. Still, Dave holds himself still. There’s nothing he’d like more than fingerbanging Karkat senseless before he dicks him through the mattress, but it’s not about that. “Shh,” he says gently, running his other hand through Karkat’s hair.

When he finds a horn, Karkat’s jaw snaps shut so hard Dave’s afraid he might have actually bitten his own tongue off, but no, he’s just a moron who doesn’t know how to express sexual frustration. “Fuck off, Strider.”

“I could stop,” Dave offers. He definitely doesn’t want to, and from the way the troll’s clenching around him Karkat doesn’t want that either, but he still starts pulling his finger away.

The growl welling in Karkat’s chest is so totally worth it. “By fuck off I meant fuck off right back here and oh _sweet almighty taintchafing neanderthrashings_ that’s good!”

Dave kisses the corners of Karkat’s mouth, like he’s anointing the troll for that aroused word salad he just blessed him with. “We got all night.”

“You seriously want this to take all fucking night?” With his voice that breathy, it’s hard for Dave to take him seriously, but it’s also taking all of Dave’s fortitude not to splatter his sheets with baby batter. If he crushes his hips to the shitty sleepaway-camp four-inch pallet mattress, maybe he can convince his groinstalk that now isn’t exactly the best time.

Running his mouth helps, too. “It could. You never know. Egbert and Captor are on that little date you been prayin’ for.” His Houston upbringing is most evident when he has the least filter between brain and mouth, short-circuited by bloodflow rerouted to his crotch cannon.

Under Dave, the troll’s body jerks; his shoulders strain, the muscles in his arms evident as he tries, and fails, to keep himself from pulling at his hands. “Fuck,” he moans helplessly, and Dave encourages more words to fall from his lips with hot presses of his lips to Karkat’s throat. “More, fuck…”

More. More is good. Yeah, this could take all night, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t hurry it along right now. “Knowing them, they ain’t even to dessert yet.” If Dave were any more self-aware, he’d be actively cringing at his own voice, but Karkat doesn’t seem to mind, given the way he’s thrashing around on the bed.

Christ on fire, Dave can fucking feel Karkat’s heartbeat around his finger, he’s pulsing so hard, so needy for more after so little attention, and Dave barely gives him time to adjust from one to two before Karkat’s screaming out his pleasure for the entire floor to hear. (Thank god for loud music, or right there’s another hundred-dollar fine.) “Fuck, Strider, there, fuck fuck fuck…”

“Egbert’s a gentleman, he’ll order dessert,” Dave says idly, sinking his two fingers deeper so Karkat can feel every articulation in his knuckles. “Something sweet. And drippy. So he can see the way Captor’s tongue looks around the spoon. ‘Cause Egbert’s an easy mark. He’ll probably get a fucking boner at the table.” When there’s no more to give Karkat, the troll whines, rolling his head back and forth on the pillow like that would make Dave go faster. “And he’s got his car, so he’s gonna drive to the quarry—you remember the quarry, don’t you,” and he doesn’t even have to ask, the way Karkat’s shamelessly moaning like a two-dollar whore is enough of a confirmation. Dave eases out, moves back in, eases out again. “Maybe tonight’s the night he gets in your roommate’s pants.”

Karkat makes a sound like a kicked puppy and pushes down against Dave’s fingers.

Holy shit. Holy shit, that hit him right where it hurts. “You’re actually fucking getting off to that, aren’t you.” It’s not a question. Karkat nods anyway. Before Karkat has to move his hips again, Dave seeks up, finds what he’s looking for with his fingertips, and digs in. The troll yowls like a fucking wildcat, pulls down on his hands so hard he rattles the headboard, and Dave takes away the pressure. “You’re a sick fuck, you know that?”

“You crotchblistered hairless apebeast get your fingers—”

“Such a sick fuck,” Dave narrates, fluttering pressure against that spot in him in quick, teasing pulses. Karkat kicks his feet in Dave’s bedsheets, rumples them at the end of the bed. “You might actually be the sickest fuck.” With the heel of his hand, he pushes Karkat’s stomach down, lower back hitting the mattress, and drives up. “Sick like ill. God, your body’s burning up, it’s like a fucking fever, jesus, you are so. Fucking. Sick.”

Karkat looks up at him like he wants to kill him with laser vision. “You like it.”

“Shit yeah,” Dave says, shrugging. It pulls his fingers out of Karkat, who makes a vaguely disappointed response noise. “One more thing to make fun of you for.” He pushes in again, twists his wrist, and Karkat’s hips move with him, rolling from side to side. Huh. Cool. “Lucky for you, Doctor Dave is in. And while you got the sickest case of fuckery I’ve ever seen, I happen to have a Ph.D in troll internal medicine.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Shut up and focus.”

Wrong metaphor, then. A tremolo, like he’d do between a black key and a white, and Karkat rewards him with a warbling pitch stuck in his throat. “Look at this shit. I can play you like a goddamn instrument. Watch this.” Dave pulls his hand away and Karkat whines a high C, drives in again and gets a low-G moan. Holy shit, he’s playing Karkat Vantas. “I’m switching my major to troll performance. I’m gonna give fucking recitals—”

Karkat gives him a sforzando—unintentional, by the sound of it. “Right there right there right—”

No, it wasn’t the crook of his fingers: Dave tries it again, and the same sound eludes him. “I’m gonna fuckin’ record this shit,” and there it is, that moaning starts up again in earnest. “Gonna weave it into my music, shit, everyone should hear you like this,” even though he’d like nothing more than to keep it to himself.

“Daxiang baozhashi de la duzi, are you physically incapable of shutting up?”

Dave stops the thing with his fingers in Karkat’s ass. “What fucking language was that?”

“Zakroi svoi peesavati rot.” A different one—it fills his mouth in a way Dave doesn’t recognize.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dave headbutts Karkat’s shoulder and groans. “The last thing we needed was you cussing in four different languages.”

Karkat wriggles under him; Dave doesn’t miss that it moves his fingers in the troll, like Karkat’s fucking himself on him. (Desperate little slut.) “Ten,” he breathes out.

“Ten?” Karkat nods. “Ten fucking languages.” Karkat doesn’t nod, too busy trying not to moan as Dave starts fingerfucking him in earnest. “And I’m gonna make you scream in all of ‘em, how’s that sound, fuckface?”

He’s already screaming. What a tool. “Cazzo, cazzo, cazzo, comme ça, comme ça,” and Dave’s never been quite so irritated or aroused that his fuckbuddy’s a polyglot.

His fingers are starting to cramp and his forearm is fucking killing him and his flesh torpedo is so hard it actually hurts and Dave still isn’t going to do it, not until—“How do you say _please_ in Alternian?”

“We don’t.” Karkat smiles up at him, sharp and wicked and bright.

Oh, fuck this little bitch. Fuck him fuck him fuck him and that’s exactly what Dave plans to do. Right now. He pulls his fingers out, away, and he doesn’t miss the thin string of lube that for a split-second connects his fingertips to Karkat’s sensitives, the twitch his hole gives once it’s empty. Lubing his spackle hammer is an exercise in self-hatred, touches no more than teasing, and he can see the goal and he lines up and drives in and he can barely get the head in before he has to stop. “Jesus, Vantas, unclench, wouldja?”

Karkat’s grin falters into a grimace, but all the while he never stops fucking _smirking_. “I thought you said we had all night.”

“In a perfect universe, yes, and I could make it literal, but that requires a virgin sacrifice to the heathen gods of time and your asscherry’s pretty well busted by now.” Was he even a virgin before Dave introduced him to human spam porpoise? They never really talked about it. Whatever the case, this isn’t the first time Dave’s been bareback butt spelunking in this particular ass chasm, and he’s not about to snarl a thousand and one timelines and all of paradox space just to give himself a little more time to thoroughly dick this asshole.

Karkat’s tight. Always has been. Even when he’s doing the do, he can’t fucking relax. Dave tries a swift bite to the sensitive place right below his ear, which seems to help, but when he delves a little further, both of them hiss. “Strider, fuck,” and whatever other profanities Karkat was preparing to spew get trapped behind his tongue as Dave presses further. Further.

Dave digs his nails into Karkat’s hips, hoping for cherry filling to spill between his fingers, but nothing doing. Karkat’s bulge, though, writhes sloppily across his stomach, smearing gross red jelly precum fucking everywhere. More sheets to wash. Or burn, probably, if Karkat spills all over these. Great. Just great. “Come on, d’you really wanna take ‘til my roommate comes back?”

Karkat is blessedly silent, rolling his head back with a tremor in his hands and a quiver at his adam’s apple while his hips roll down to meet Dave’s.

Okay, yes. That. Holy shit, how did Dave not realize before now. “What if his date goes horribly.” Karkat takes in a desperate breath, his fists white-knuckling while Dave pulls back. “What if he’s headed back right the fuck now and neither of us know about it.”

“Shut up and pail me through the floor, you incompetent fuckpustule,” comes out in a thin voice while Karkat wraps his legs around Dave’s, locking their ankles together.

Dave doesn’t shut up, but he does drill back home, and Karkat’s spine curves so he can press their bodies together at every meaningful place of contact. “See, I think,” Dave drawls, teeth grazing Karkat’s ear while he grabs at the troll’s ass, “I think it’s the other thing.”

“There is no _other thing_ , there’s shut your word-vomiting bulge holster and fuck me as hard as I hate myself.”

Dave’s not about to do that. He’s set up this teasing, soft, slow, push-me-pull-you rhythm, Karkat clinging to him so hard at every possible place that it’s almost impossible to move in any other way. “What if,” and it’s not just his incorrigible need to have words in his mouth at all times, it’s not just his inability to shut up, “what if Egbert gets back here and he can hear something, right, he can hear me muttering, talking to myself, but that’s normal, I do that shit all the time.” He can feel Karkat’s heartbeat on the fucking tip of his cock, the way it speeds up as he’s talking. Holy fucking shitsnacks. “But then he can hear someone else’s voice in here, too.”

Karkat’s entire body seizes up, then goes limp. “Dave,” he says softly, but with that tone, it’s impossible to tell whether it’s meant as a blessing or a warning.

Dave keeps going anyway. He’s never considered himself especially smart when it comes to knowing when to stop. “And he’s all, should I come in? Should I leave them to it? And then—then he hears that it’s you.”

Karkat fucking _yowls_ and rolls his hips under Dave. “Fuck, that’s—that’s—”

Exactly what’s getting him off. Dave kisses him, which means Karkat’s just making that aroused noise right into his mouth, and it tastes even better than it sounds. “And he opens the door,” Dave keeps narrating, still moving slow and steady in him, “and he finds—us—like this.”

The headboard bangs against the wall. Karkat’s grabbing onto it, hard, to keep from fraying Dave’s headphone cord. “That’s—disgusting—and depraved—and—”

Dave takes mercy on him, kissing his ear before he whispers into it. “Want your hands back?”

“Te meto la verga por el osico para que te calles el pinche puto osico hijo de perra—”

“Okay, before you cuss me out in Spanish you might wanna remember that I grew up in Houston, which is a border hop skip and a jump away from Mexico. _Capisce_?” Yeah, that’s not Spanish. Whatever. To punctuate it, Dave drives home, hard, and Karkat fucking screams. Much better. “Now are you gonna ask nicely? Or am I gonna have to teach you some manners?”

“Give. Me. My. Hands,” Karkat growls, reaching up as best he can and snapping his teeth awfully close to the side of Dave’s face.

“Close enough.” Dave reaches up—burying himself in Karkat again, who yells out at being filled again—and easily untangles the cord. As soon as it’s not wrapped around Karkat’s wrists, those nails are right back at his shoulders again, but not exactly clawing at him. Not yet. He’s just trying to hold on for right now. “So Egbert comes in and finds us—”

Karkat actually shivers, burying his forehead in the space where Dave’s neck meets his shoulder and gripping onto his upper arms so hard Dave’s going to bruise. “Fuck,” he says, the word muffled against Dave’s skin.

Bingo. Hit right on it, if the way Karkat’s clenching around him is any sign. God, he feels so good like this, hot and tight and slick and desperate and without a condom Dave can _feel_ , he can feel _everything_ , and it’s nearly overwhelming. “Comes in and he—he can’t believe what he’s seeing, what utter betrayal, yadda yadda yadda, but more likely he’s short-circuiting, because let’s face it, you look damn good with my dick in you.” Karkat cries out, shifts his hips, and at this angle Dave can get his hole cork right up against Karkat’s hot spot. “I’m not gonna stop, though. Not just because he’s here. I want him to hear that stupid little noise you make when I—”

There’s that stupid little noise, a quiet little high-pitched wail when Dave just presses the head of his dick right up against the most sensitive part of Karkat he can reach. The troll’s bone bulge is going crazy for want of contact, twisting in on itself as it leaves sticky red genetic fluid all over Karkat’s stomach, but Dave’s not about to touch it. Not yet. Karkat has an oversensitive bulge, and Dave’s not done with him yet. Not tonight.

“And just imagine—he sits down with a little whump on his bed and just stares,” Dave keeps saying, a little more breathless now that he’s picking up the pace. “He does a really good impression of an idiot, I don’t know if you noticed.”

“Everyone’s— _ah!_ Noticed,” Karkat points out.

“True.” Dave darts his head down to leave a harsh but short bite right under Karkat’s ear, teeth slotting into the dents he made before, and the troll’s nails scrabble down his arms at that, clawing at him to spur him on. And damn him, it works. Dave holds Karkat’s hips up from the bed, starts pistoning into him harder, and yeah, this whole scenario is kinda hot, isn’t it, in a look-at-the-weird-shit-that-gets-Karkat-Vantas-wriggling way. “But just imagine, he’s looking at us, and we make a pretty picture, you and I, and now he finally gets to see it. And he’s just sitting there, idly jacking off through his jeans—whoa, there, calm down—”

Karkat doesn’t apologize, but he does cut it out. Doesn’t really undo the gashes he just left on Dave’s biceps, but it’s something. “You think he’d…?” He’s breathless, face flushing at the implications.

This is sick. This is sick and disgusting but it’s getting Karkat to move so prettily under him and Dave thinks about this shit sometimes, too, thinks about the faces John must make when he’s alone, the noises he makes when no one else can hear. “He’s too much of a moron to ask to join in, are you kidding me? Plus he’d probably do that martyr bullshit, the little I-have-a-boyfriend rationalization dance, but that wouldn’t stop him from whacking his tackle to this. And jesus, the size of his fucking—”

Karkat actually fucks himself down on Dave’s dick, giving himself leverage from where he’s gripping onto Dave’s arms to move his hips down to meet Dave’s. “Fuck,” he’s yelling out, almost louder than the music going through Dave’s speakers.

That’s it. No more bullshit. Dave rears up, pulls Karkat's hips with him when he moves to sit on his heels and drags Karkat's shoulders along the sheets, and starts fucking obliterating him, pounding into him until everything is the wet sound of their hips slapping together. Karkat’s a loud motherfucker, too, screaming out obscenities in every language he knows. Dave can see every part of him like this, the ruddy flush that spreads down to the middle of his chest, the desperate wriggling of his bulge like that could get it attention—fuck, his shame globes are out, and he’s getting tighter, must be close, good, yes, because Dave, Dave needs, Dave wants, Dave’s close—

Through a mixture of what he can only assume is Alternian—that language just isn’t _human_ , designed for a race with too many teeth in their mouths and a culture with martial law imprinted over it—Dave closes his hand around Karkat’s bulge. It’s not that easy, considering the thing’s lubed and slippery and moving almost of its own accord by this point, but once he’s caught it, he pumps once, twice, and Karkat just looks up at him with wide, desperate eyes. “Like—like this?”

“Spill,” Dave grits out at him, fucking him ruthlessly, “spill, no bucket, just like this, want you to spill on yourself, show off for me, fuck, fuck, fuck—”

There he goes. Whatever trolls did with buckets and filling them, that’s not what it’s like now. It’s like humans do, if humans jizzed a thing that looked like blood and smelled like a mixture of cherry cough drops and Red Hots. All of Karkat is spasming, his entire body rippling around Dave still inside him, and Dave shoves once, twice, and it’s over, ramming in to the hilt and holding himself still as he loses his load.

It ends with a little harsh breathing and a lot of stickiness. Dave pulls out, and Karkat groans; he likes it, he says, when Dave does that, cums in him, uses him like a bucket, but it’s messy as hell and there’s cum already splattered down his thighs. God, he’s exhausted, and the only thing he feels capable of doing is falling forward and faceplanting onto his pillow, but Karkat’s right there, too, still holding onto him and keeping him steady.

Both of them are silent. There’s really no need to talk right now. Dave’s mind is serene, his mouth wondrously empty. Karkat’s entire body is relaxed, his lips quirked up in a small smile that Dave’s sure he reserves just for moments like this. “Wow,” Karkat says, and rolls over, noodle-limbed, to start climbing out of bed.

“No you don’t,” Dave corrects him, slinging an arm around his stomach and pulling the troll right back where he was. Yeah, the bed’s gross. Karkat will just have to get over it. He’s slept in worse, that slimy stuff that was in their cocoon things or whatever the fuck that was. “We got time.”

“For what? Postcoital cuddling?” Karkat sniffs a haughty breath through his nose.

“Don’t tell me you’re too good for that, because we both know you’re not,” Dave mutters into his pillow. “Now get down here and act like my personal space heater.”

“Can I at least put clothes—”

“No,” Dave preempts him, pulling him close. He’s not much taller than Karkat, but the height advantage is nice right now, because he can just tuck the troll’s head under his chin and keep his face squarely between his horns. This way, he can feel Karkat’s breathing, nearly hear his heartbeat. It’s… nice. Comforting. Like the ticking of a clock.

Karkat doesn’t say anything. Dave doesn’t say anything right back. His speakers are blaring part of a mix he was working on. He should get up and work on it—there are ideas churning around in his brain—but there’s so much troll right here and so little time he gets to really savor the fact that he just humiliated the shit out of him. “I really fucking hate you,” Karkat says, his voice hoarse and nasal.

“I know,” Dave says idly. “Hate you too,” even though that's not quite it. Everything’s so much less complicated right now, soft around the edges. Pity it can’t last longer.


	5. Chapter 5

John's hands are shaking. It’s not just because of all the Mountain Dew he had at dinner, either. He's trying to drive Sollux to the quarry so the two of them can maybe French kiss in his car before the troll shows him that sweet stargazing app he was telling John about over sweet and sour chicken.

It wouldn’t be so damn difficult to drive if Sollux weren’t also creeping his hand, hot and pressurized, millimeter by millimeter up the inside of John's thigh.

John makes the engine a little angry when he puts the Jeep in park, but he's antsy as hell. “Back seat?” he asks Sollux breathlessly.

Sollux does this thing, this quirky thing that John's learning to love about him, where he answers questions but non-verbally. In this case, he just rockets out of the passenger seat and into the flat expanse of the back of the car. John took out the back seat hoping the two of them would use the flat back-trunk as a blanket nest while Sollux pointed out meteors or galaxies, but now it’s looking more like hot makeouts with frustratingly attractive trolls.

John barely remembers to take the keys out of the engine before he leaps into the back himself. Sollux is on him immediately like honey on a hot biscuit. John can feel his body heat radiating even through two sets of clothes when he presses up insistently against him. “Fuck,” Sollux whispers into his mouth, “I thought you’d never ask.”

After some rolling around (and some weight shifting on the axels, uneasy-balance with that lurch that feels like falling), Sollux has his shoulders pressed against the back of the driver’s seat, sitting in his lap and holding onto his face like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth. There’s a definite lump in the front of his skinny jeans, and he has to be able to feel how hard John is through his shorts. “Not my fault you were fucking the spoon with your tongue.”

“It was delicious,” Sollux defends himself, and lets John chase the flavor of the dessert he ordered for him out of the inside of his mouth.

John's hands are large enough to nearly encircle his waist. Sollux clutches his shoulders and shuffles closer, the bulge in his pants nudging up against the dick in John's shorts, and keeps kissing John like he wants to breathe him in, like both of them are approaching the inevitable and he wants to take the both of them down. From somewhere that might as well be a different planet entirely, both of their phones are blowing up with texts.

John rocks. Sollux rolls. The windows are starting to fog up. Sollux starts panting, hard, when John runs his tongue down the column of his throat, rutting up against him like he could phase through John's body and nestle himself next to his bones if he tried hard enough. “God,” John chokes out, encouraging Sollux's movements with his hands at the troll's hips. Three frantic humps later and John's done for, kissing him sloppy and wet through it all.

Sollux doesn’t seem to mind, shivering when John shudders—did he just? Hard to tell, it’s dark, but if that trolls-jizz-a-bucketload thing is true, then probably not. It doesn’t feel like Sollux just pissed himself or anything. Hell, thanks to whoever invented the fabric of cargo shorts, John can barely tell where he creamed his own briefs.

Their mouths connect. Part, connect again. Like magnets. Lazier. Less frantic. Sollux's hands stop trying to rip John's shirt off his shoulders; he pets it down onto his chest instead, careful not to snag his claws. John circles his arms behind his back to hug him close. Once the fog retreats from the glass, Sollux rests his forehead against John's. “Hey,” John whispers, smiling.

“Hey,” Sollux says back. He kisses him again, pressure lingering, before he draws back, out of John's personal space for the first time in maybe a half-hour. “Did you want to see that app?”

John reaches for his phone. So many missed texts. He fires off a few to Dave to keep him from completely blowing a gasket, closes his messages from Karkat, and throws it back in the vague direction of that’s-not-important-right-now. “Is it clear enough out?” Washington isn’t exactly known for pristine skies.

“Doesn’t matter. Once it triangulates the position, it’ll show you what it’s supposed to look like,” Sollux explains as he pulls his tablet out of his sylladex.

Meanwhile, John was pulling down the roof so the two of them could look up into open air. “Wow,” John sighs. It’s crystalline. There are stars out tonight that he didn’t even know existed. This is why they came to the quarry—not just for the privacy, but for a place without light pollution, so the two of them could get closer to nature.

John loses track of time while Sollux walks him through constellations and star charts and Alternian astrology, and they only drive back to campus once both of them are yawning more than speaking.


	6. Chapter 6

At first, when John comes in, he’s convinced Dave’s already asleep—but it’s only three in the morning on a Friday night, so it’s only a matter of time before he notices the light of Dave’s phone hiding under his sheets. “Still blogging?”

“You’re just now coming in,” Dave points out.

“I was out on a date. You’re just blogging in bed.” And as long as Dave’s in bed, John’s intent on joining him there. Having Dave as a roommate is like having a sleepover every night. They used to make blanket forts, curling up together with the sheets pulled over their heads and whispering gossip about the girls they grew up with. Gossiping about his date is just a logical extension of that.

Dave barely dignifies John’s intrusion with a response. “Go to bed, Egbert.”

“I _am_ in bed.”

“You’re in _my_ bed.”

“What’s your point?”

Dave finally rolls over to face John. His face doesn’t look good under iPhone backlighting; John can really see the bags under his eyes like this, how prominent his cheekbones are. Is he eating right? Is he sleeping at all? It’s not really any of John’s business, but he worries sometimes. “Why are you just now getting in from your date?”

John shrugs, which moves him closer to Dave under his covers. “Well, I mean, we went out for dinner and we were there for, like, three hours, and then we kind of… drove to the quarry.”

Dave shuffles around. His phone dims. “Did you ride his baloney pony?”

“No.”

“Did _he_ ride _your_ baloney pony?”

“No! Dave, there was no sex. He just showed me this iPad app he was working on that maps out Alternian constellations. It works better when there’s less ambient light.” Except John’s still smiling. He lets out a chuckle, then lets Dave in on his inside joke. “Although there was some dick touching before he geeked out on me.”

Dave makes a theatrical gasp. “I’ll kill that son of a bitch for defiling my virginal roommate.”

“Relax, Dave, that’s not the first time I’ve had my dingle wingled.” And then John chuckles again. “Although that’s the first time it was a guy doing it.”

Dave gasps again. “Who the fuck hast done such a vile act? Who must I slay for thee, oh my brother?”

“Technically, it’s whom,” John says through a yawn, finally taking off his glasses.

“Whom what?”

“Whom must I slay for thee.”

Dave takes the pillow from under John’s head, whacks him across the face with it, rolls over, and continues blogging. John curls up against his back, watching Dave scroll and scroll and scroll until his eyelids get heavy. “Still not telling you who it was,” he mumbles against the soft, freckled skin of Dave’s shoulder, lips moving against his body.

\--

Rose’s phone is going off. “Ugh, what is it now?” The guy on her bed gives her a look that says ‘go check that,’ seeing as he has a ball gag in his mouth that makes drool spill from his perfectly puckered lips and can’t actually say that out loud, and Rose just sighs. “Fine, I’ll get it. But stay.” He doesn’t really have a choice. His hands are cuffed to the headboard, his calves roped to his thighs. Rose was in the middle of dappling his perfect skin with square crop marks, the latest ones ending closer and closer to his crotch, and even though he whines at the deprivation, she knows he’ll be able to bear it. She’s edged him for hours before.

It’s really not cute when a domme checks her phone in the middle of a session, especially when it’s just petty text messages, but they’re from her brother. “John’s going to be in late,” she mutters. “I know I’m supposed to be on duty tonight, but I _just don’t care_. Now, where were we, dear?”

Eridan just looks over to her, eyes wide and watery without his glasses on his face, and pushes his hips up to showcase his perfectly pulsing, glistening bulge, the crevice it crawled from framed with crop marks. “Ah, that’s right,” Rose whispers, smiling and straddling his waist so she can rut her slit into his slime. “My favorite part.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hyperlink in the middle to a new addition to the series! y'all get three--three--three chapters for the price of one, and extra-long ones at that, because i haven't updated in more than 2 months and these needed to get done

Things get kind of crazy on the weekends.

Not like they weren’t already crazy on the weekdays, but Saturdays are particularly bad. For John, fall Saturdays start at the crack of noon, to the tune of the ABSU fight song as the marching band passes by and the scent of burned hot dogs from where Jake is trying and failing, yet again, to get a dorm tailgate together. If by some magic coincidence he’d forgotten there was a game today, there’s no doubt now.

Dave’s already gone. Given the note scribbled on his whiteboard, he’s right back at Strider Hall. He’s not one for sports, not even ironically; John asked him to commentate one of the games once, with his colorful metaphors and inept analogies, but within five minutes of John sitting him down to watch a Seahawks game, his attention span snapped and he wandered off to do “something more important.” Still… it’s a Saturday. Does Dave ever take a day off?

Not really all that important. Most of John’s other favorite people always come to the games with him. After kickoff, Karkat shuffles next to him in the bleachers, and he’s loud as ever cheering on the Krakens. Dirk’s on fire today, throwing pass after completed pass, throwing the Cougars for a loop and generally making Washington State wish they’d never been born. Or hatched—John doesn’t miss that there are a few trolls on the other team’s roster, too. Still, none of them can get past Horuss to sack Dirk, and WSU’s offensive line seems pretty wary of Equius. (John is, too, come to think of it. If he’s willing to do that to his horn, imagine what he could do to someone else’s face.)

By halftime, John’s already losing his voice. The cheer team’s going on strong, though, Jake lifting Nepeta to stand on his shoulders so she can shout to the student section. Karkat always hollers particularly loudly when she’s the one leading the chants; John elbows him, waggles his eyebrows once he catches Karkat’s attention, and Karkat just elbows him right back, so hard John thinks he cracked a rib. John’s favorite part of the game comes during third quarter, though, when Jake, Nepeta, Rufioh, and Tavros spread out to the four corners of the stadium to lead an A-B-S-U chant. The student section always gets the U, and John makes sure to drag out the vowel sound so it’s like he’s booing the Cougars outright.

Most of the game blurs together for John, but part of the fun in going is crowd-watching. John doesn’t miss how Dirk stares pointedly at Jake from the sidelines while Jake climbs the metal barrier to the bleachers to talk to a troll girl with ram horns in the first row—must be Aradia. Then, too, there’s the deliberate upskirt peeks that Jake gets to do with every lift he performs with Nepeta. More than a few times, Horuss wanders to the edge of the sidelines for the players, and Rufioh strays a little far from the other cheerleaders, and there’ll be some horn-locking and some butt-slapping before both of them return to their sports. Dirk says he doesn’t like the attention he gets from the media for being the first openly gay quarterback, but that doesn’t stop him from checking in with Equius and pecking him on the lips during key special-teams plays.

There’s the touchdowns, of course—especially the ones Dirk runs in himself, which get a standing ovation from most of the stadium and particularly aggravated hissing from the Cougars section. With every score, John and Sollux manage between them to lift Karkat off the bleachers, forcing him to do a pushup for every point. Student tradition. John’s never asked why. He doesn’t care, so long as he gets to toss the troll around like this, hold tightly onto his hands while he performs the little ritual, get him back down safely. And with every tense moment in the game, Sollux drops his arms to his sides, finds John’s fingers with his own, and presses their palms together until ABSU inevitably triumphs.

Yes, inevitably. 56 to 34. Equius looks a little dejected at how close the score was—close being anything in the 20-somethings. John knows from reading the student papers that he considers anything more than a scoreless opponent a failure, but he really shouldn’t be so hard on himself. All the same, Equius joins the rest of the football team in tunelessly singing along to the alma mater.

And that’s when Saturday really gets going.

Because after every home win, people are going to be pretty sauced. And there’s going to be people who want to jump in the Fountain. Yes, that Fountain, the one Feferi commissioned to commemorate the loss of the seadwellers who faithfully marched under her Empress’s regime to conquer untold new worlds—all of them destroyed in the aftermath of the Crisis. It’s supposed to be a somber thing, from what John understands, a troll equivalent to a World War memorial, but instead of being something gloomy, the student body of ABSU has taken it upon itself to make it something to celebrate.

Which means that John’s among one of the thousands of students to run through the Fountain, slosh around in the ankle-deep water, and get drenched by the spurts. Sollux refuses to jump in, though. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Karkat oh-so-kindly cajoles him, to which Sollux merely responds with that freaky-cool electricity thing. At least, that’s what John thinks it is. And if there’s anything he knows about electronics, electricity and water don’t mix. Doesn’t mean John can’t splash him with a few well-timed kicks from his soggy shoes.

When John gets back to his dorm room, it’s full dark out. He’s drenched to the bone, hoarse from the game, and grinning from ear to ear. Even better, Dave’s back. “You missed it, dude,” John tells him, rubbing a towel against his head and trying to get stray water droplets out of his ears. He’ll need to clean his glasses, too. (Totally worth it.)

“It’s like you think I don’t listen to the radio,” is Dave’s droll reply. “Strider drops back to the thirty yard line,” he says, mocking a sports-announcer voice. “Zahhak makes a block. Strider’s got the time. He’s got a receiver. A perfect spiral—a perfect catch by Enebeke, all the way at the thirty-five—the thirty—and he could—go—all—the—way…” Dave swivels around in his desk chair, holding his arms up like goalposts and rolling his eyes. “I don’t need the world knowing when I score.”

“Everyone knows it’s not you.” Dave Strider is not a name anyone associates with sports. “And since when do you score anything?”

“Hits on YouTube,” Dave throws out.

“Doesn’t count,” John counters, stripping off his soaked tee-shirt.

“Hits on SoundCloud,” Dave tries next.

“Does not count,” John enunciates further, kicking off his shoes.

“Okay, try this one,” Dave says. John sits on his bed to peel off his socks, only wincing a little bit at the squelch he can feel through his shorts and briefs. “I was Googling myself, right—“

“Oh my god, Dave, turn around,” John interrupts him. The point of stripping is to, well, get naked, and there’s no reason his roommate should be subjected to it. Not that John thinks he’s ugly—well, not really. Not all that attractive, either, if he’s being honest with himself. Muscular, sure, but that’s to be expected with so many years of wielding a godly hammer. Nicely browned, hinting at his First Nations background, but fuzzy, too, to the point where his five-o-clock shadow comes out closer to two in the afternoon. Maybe he has the scruffy hipster thing going for him, but he can’t see much else in himself. What Sollux sees in him is, to John, a complete mystery.

“—and there are apparently rumors that I’ve been tapping Rihanna,” Dave finishes his sentence, almost like John never interrupted.

“A little privacy?” John reminds him, hands on the button of his shorts. “Please.”

“Fine.” John can tell Dave is rolling his eyes behind the shades, but at least he swivels his desk chair back around. “I can tell you’re just jealous I’m getting Barbadian tail and you’re not.”

“Since when are you getting any tail whatsoever?” Finally. Out of those wet clothes. John pulls on a new pair of briefs, starts rummaging around in his closet. He had a last pair of clean jeans in here…

“Since I got in three edit wars this morning over my own goddamn Wikipedia entry.” Okay, John knew Dave was kind of vain and needed his e-peen constantly stroked at all times, but that’s a little over the top. “People are still confusing me with him. It’s been five and a half fucking years—“

“Get over it,” John groans. “You have the same name. You look the same. People are bound to get confused.” Jeans are go.

“—my account is _clearly_ dave_ebubbles, _with_ the underscore, and his is daveebubbles, _no_ underscore. There’s _no way_ people should be mixing them up. It’s as different as night and—“

“Later that night,” John talks over him. Once Dave starts on one of his rants, he has a tendency to not shut up. Ever. He’s kind of like Karkat in that respect. John’s had vivid fantasies of taping Dave’s mouth shut and tying him to his chair when he gets on a roll like this. “If you don’t want people confusing you two, why don’t you just put your middle name on your Wiki entry or something?”

“Unlike _some people_ ,” and by inference Dave means his doppel, “I don’t want the Internet to know everything about me.”

“Except what you’re doing while you’re doing it,” John points out, spraying deodorant before rummaging in his closet for a shirt. “Don’t look at me like that. I follow your ebubbles feed. Everyone here does. I swear to god, some days I know when you’ve had a particularly good shit just from what you blog.”

“Shut up.” John just won that argument, but as a side effect, it means Dave usually gets sullen. He hates to lose.

“You can turn around now,” John concedes. At least that laser glare is hidden behind those shades. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. I’m just saying.”

“The blue one.” It comes as such a non-sequitur that it actually makes John pause. “No, not that one, the other blue one.” Oh. The shirts in his closet. John goes back to the one his hand had been on, and Dave nods. “If I’m gonna be in pictures with you tonight, I don’t want you to look like a colorblind infant that puked on itself.”

“So you’re going to come to Porrim’s thing?” She likes to host events after home football games—events meaning copious amounts of alcohol, amazing music choices, bad decisions, patchy memories, good pictures, great gossip, and truly epic hangovers.

Dave just shrugs. “I got some shit to do first.”

“When will you _not_ have shit to do?”

“When I’m dead.” It might not just be a figure of speech. One of the awesome side-effects from the Crisis was keeping some residue of their digital lives. As long as a death is neither just nor heroic, someone who’s hit godtier will regenerate—not for a while, though, and it’s not a completely painless process. It happened to John once when he fell out of a tornado, and it’s not an experience he’s eager to repeat. Knowing Dave, though, and knowing how many times he died in-game, he probably thinks nothing of it. Probably kills himself in some novel and utterly stupid way every few weeks just so he can take a day off. “You can go now if you want,” Dave waves him on as he shrugs on a shirt. “Just… gimme a half-hour.”

“Promise?” Dave nods. “So I’ll see you in three. Got it.” Is it cold enough for a jacket? Does he even need one if he’ll just be taking it off at Porrim’s? Dave’s completely absorbed in his work again, so no guidance from that front. “I’ll text you.” Otherwise, Dave’s never going to realize how much time has actually passed. For now, though, time to head out.

\--

Perfect. Only two hours this time for Porrim to perfect her makeup. It’s just so difficult, with the radioactive glow of her skin, to find something perfectly radiant to match. She missed the game. Of course she missed the game. She never goes, too busy planning for an afterparty that every weekend one-ups itself to become a hallowed campus tradition.

It’s almost like a fraternity party, in a way, if you consider veterans of the Crisis to make up a fraternal order. A reunion of sorts, and a way for everyone to let loose. Even though most of them are underage, Porrim’s never been in trouble for hosting these parties. The administration turns a blind eye, as well they should, because if anyone deserves to celebrate after everything that’s happened, it’s them.

There are already a few people milling around, enjoying the music and cracking the first few beers, when the real guests start pouring in. John is, of course, the first to arrive, and Porrim greets him with a bright smile. He’s attractive, for a human, and his bashfulness only adds to his many charms. That polo he’s wearing is stretched pretty tightly across his chest, showing off all those hammer-wielding muscles. As Jade would say, hubba hubba. “Egbert,” she says warmly, and pulls him into an embrace. He gives excellent hugs, squeezing her for a moment before pulling back and keeping his hands on her arms. “Where’s Tweedledee?”

“You finally watched Alice in Wonderland!” he exclaims, face breaking into a grin. “Anyway, Tweedledum—“

“Tweedledee,” Porrim talks over him. Dee, as in short for Dave, and dumb, as in John’s one of the most oblivious people Porrim has ever met.

“—busy finishing some project,” John dismisses her interruption. “He’ll be here. He’d better. He promised me.” His eyes are definitely not focused on her face.

Porrim moves her hand to her décolletage, adjusting the neckline of her dress to better cover her cleavage. John blinks, focusing on her eyes again. Oh, it’s so easy to discombobulate him, and Porrim takes a special joy in doing so. “He made a promise to me as well,” she mentions. “Supposedly he’s put together a playlist especially for this little get-together.”

“Maybe that’s what he’s still working on.” John shrugs. “Who’s here?”

“The football players, the band, and the cheer squad aren’t here yet, but I think I saw Karkat—“

“Awesome.” Of course he’d perk up when the mutantblood was mentioned. “Y’know, he said I should talk to you about something…” The sentence dawdles off awkwardly. Porrim raises a blinged eyebrow. “Not important,” John glosses over it, waving it off. “I needed advice, but it doesn’t matter, because it already happened.”

Porrim’s smart. She has her fingertips on the pulse of campus gossip. And it’s hard for John to get any privacy, poor thing. All of campus knows he smooched a boy on Friday morning, half of campus knows who that boy was, and half of those people know the two of them went out on Friday night. “Did you have to ask him about troll relationships?” John’s so adorable—he actually blushes, the tips of his ears turning red as he darts his eyes down to his shoes. “Oh, honey,” Porrim drawls, not even sarcastically. “Oh, I’m sorry. You really should have come to me. He tends to get flustered easily—and I’m not sure he enjoys being treated like the village two-wheeled advice-giver.”

“Two-wheeled…?” He puzzles it out given a few seconds, though; she really needs to remember to correct her vocabulary around these humans. “I just didn’t want to involve too many people,” he admits. “And I thought you might…”

He’s waiting on her to finish his sentence, she realizes—too embarrassed to say it himself. “Seduce you?” If possible, the boy flushes even harder, but at least he nods. His eyes have wandered up from the floor to focus squarely on her breasts again. He’s so endearing. Almost like a small barkbeast, really. “John,” she says clearly, and puts a cool palm on his heated cheek. At least this way, he can look into her eyes instead of focusing on other spheres. “As enticing as that idea is, I would much rather it be mutual.”

She pats his face gently, and he huffs out a laugh at that. “Yeah, I didn’t exactly—I mean, you’re. You’re attractive. Hot. But I—“

“No worries,” she reassures him, smiling at him with a de minimis showing of fangs. “I don’t mean to change the topic, but have you seen Jade?” Porrim’s very much looking forward to seeing her tonight.

John’s eyebrows come together, and he pushes his glasses up on his face while he’s thinking. “I didn’t see her at the game. And she wanted to borrow my car today. Maybe she went off-campus? I could text her.”

“It’s all right. She told me she would be here—I was just wondering when.” John nods, claps her on the shoulder, steps away to start mingling with everyone who’s already arrived. “Beer’s in the white hunger trunk in the foodblock,” she calls to him. He just flashes her a thumbs-up to show he heard. Whether he understood is a different matter entirely. But he’ll be drinking soon, drunk not long after that—as will most of Porrim’s guests, she hopes.

This is going to be good.

\--

It’s not finished. Every time Dave goes to export this file, he finds something he needs to change. A hiccup between melodies here. A portion that’s a smidge off-tempo. Contrasts that spike too high. It’s not finished. It’s not finished. It’s not finished.

(Let it go, Strider. Just _let it go_.)

He’s sick of looking at it. Fine. There. There it goes. File’s processing, and while the computer gives him the loading bar, it’s time to pack his bags. Everything he needs is on this hard drive. Headphones, yeah, those would be good. Rockstar? Nah, Maryam said she’d get him Red Bull for spinning the sick beats all night. He’s going to need it—he can’t remember the last time he had three hours of sleep strung together.

Doesn’t matter. Right now, he’s running on music, fueled by his ruthless desire for perfection. Tracks exported. Now he just needs to upload it. He spent hours making the deliberately shitty album art for it—people had better appreciate it. Another loading bar, and it’s time to leave. There’s nothing else he can do.

While he walks, he has his headphones jammed over his ears. No one’s to bother him, and he’s trying to project that “don’t fuck with me” aura. But if he took this bass line, sampled this intro, mixed it with—hey, if Harley’s going to show up, she could feature, and maybe he could ask Egbert to—but what if, holy shit, he could start some sick fires with Nitram—

He almost doesn’t notice when he actually arrives; it’s only Porrim catching him by the shoulder that makes him realize where he is. She smiles at him while he takes his headphones off. “Red Bull?” Short, straight, to the point. He’s In The Zone and unwilling to come out of it for anything.

Porrim snaps her fingers, holds out her hand, and there it is, the Holy Grail. If there was any other godtier power Dave would want, it would be space. “Come on,” he says, jerking his head, “we gotta set up.” He needs her help to configure his setup the way he likes it.

Why? Because at these live gigs, he uses technology that technically hasn’t been invented yet, using space powers to set up translucent windows that keep five or six songs on deck while he samples with yet another window and monitors output through yet another window. The turntables themselves are easy enough, he can supply those, but everything else… Watching Maryam at work is magic, though. All it takes is framing corners with her fingers, expanding, and Dave has a tactile surface to manipulate, smooth as water and absolutely unbreakable.

As she works, he sets up his laptop. It looks so primitive next to all this space-age shit. Still, the hard drive has to connect to something, and Maryam hooks the new displays up through a newly-invented cord she pulls out through a circle made of her thumb and index finger. “Who-all’s here?” If he can get a headcount, he’ll know if he has to start now or if he can wait a little while to start a set.

“John,” Porrim says first. Obviously. “Karkat, Sollux, Gamzee, Damara, Meenah, quite a lot of Tri-Delts, but we’re waiting on the football players, the band, and the cheer team.”

“So now’s not exactly the best time.” Got it. He’ll start spinning original shit when Dirk walks through the door. Before then, though… it’s not exactly like he can take a break or anything, but he can just put together a bullshit playlist to tide people over. Knowing Egbert’s taste, and treating him as the common denominator, most people won’t be able to tell the difference.

Once Maryam’s done with the booth setup, she grasps one of his hands, leans close to kiss him on the cheek, then whispers “Thank you” into his ear. She smells like flowers from distant long-dead planets and baby powder from a society that doesn’t have babies.

He pushes her away jokingly, but smiles. “You don’t gotta thank me, Maryam.” There’s the accent. Hooboy. “I should be thanking you. I got some new material I wanna try.”

“New material or not, I really ought to be paying you with more than caffeinated beverages.”

Dave shrugs. “That’s all I want. Or need.” He has money enough to buy anything that catches his fancy, and he doesn’t mind doing favors for friends, so long as he has the time.

It’s just that he feels like he never has enough.

\--

John knows Dave is finally here when music starts pumping through the house speakers. It starts with a backbeat before Dave himself comes on the P.A. and starts doing callouts. What an egotistical little bitch. “Dis ya boy Dave Strider,” he says in the spaces between the shuddering bass, “and tonight we’re gonna crank it up a notch. This is just a taste of what I’ll be dropping later.”

And if this is any indication, it’s going to be brutal. It sounds like chiptunes that went through a woodchipper, then a wub machine, then got lyrics samples from—wait, is that HAL from 2001? John’s sure Dave hasn’t even watched that movie. There’s nothing Dave won’t sample, is there? Still, this is sicknasty. In the best way possible. John can feel it in his chest, messing with his biorhythms, and even though he’s not drunk enough to even attempt the white-boy shuffle, he can feel the urge tingling at the bottoms of his feet.

Dave’s still in his booth as people keep filtering in. And one of them is Jade. John doesn’t notice her until he feels a hug from the back around his shoulders. Jade’s so short that John’s basically wearing her like a backpack, pushing his nose into her cheek as greeting. “Hey you,” he says affectionately.

“Hi!” she chirps back over the music, dropping from her koala-cling to actually face him and talk to him. “How was the game?”

“We won—weren’t you there?” She’s combing through her hair, long and dark and wet, but wouldn’t her hair only be wet if she’d been in the fountain with everyone else?

She just laughs, her cheeks going a little pink. “I ended up going to the coast.” That… would be why she smells like the beach, John realizes, and why her hair’s getting kinked up as it dries. “Feferi took me swimming—John, you wouldn’t believe what she showed me!”

“Yeah?” This could either be a great story, or a really boring one. Just in case, John takes a pull from his beer.

“Yeah, I mean—apparently on Alternia she didn’t really swim with a whole lot of clothes on—“

John sprays his sip all over his sister’s shirt. “Jade, what the hell, that was something I did _not_ need to know,” he sputters.

“That’s what you’re going to focus on?” She punches him boldly on the shoulder, which does him the favor of clearing his lungs of accidentally-aspirated alcohol. “There was this—this underwater cave, I don’t know what to call it, but there was flora there I’d only dreamed about seeing—literally, John, would have to dream and wake up in a dream bubble of a destroyed world, it’s amazing what she was able to do—and she named them, and taught me how to pronounce them, and we started fitting them into possible Earth phylums, but John, did you know this, they have tri-helix genetic code, not double helix like ours, so…”

It’s hard to listen when John’s getting buzzed. When he can see over her head to see who else is joining the crowd. Now that the house is rocking, there’s quite a few sorority girls here he doesn’t recognize—probably drawn by the music, he reckons. Rufioh sidles in—sidles because he can’t actually fit through a goddamn door frame head-on, poor guy—which makes the first person actually participating in the game that John’s seen.

“… bioluminescent—John, are you even listening?” Jade’s fingers are tangled in the black snarls of her beachy waves, but it’s her eyes, sharp and bright, that accuse John of this heinous crime.

He just shrugs. “Not really?”

Jade just tsks mildly, rolling her eyes and letting out the faintest hint of a smile. “I swear, bro, you never listen. This stuff is important, okay?”

“It sounds really cool, trust me,” he reassures her, “it’s just that… well, biology kind of isn’t my thing, you know?”

Jade keeps staring at him, then eventually sighs and lets the tension go out of her frame. “I guess you’re right. Feferi isn’t coming—she took me, she already knows what I’m going to say—have you seen Gamzee?” All John has to do is gesture in the vague direction of the side room, and Jade’s already flouncing off, damp hair trailing behind her.

It’s kind of cute, really, that she gets so animated about stuff like that. She’ll talk to anyone and everyone, so long as they’ll listen to her about her interests. “Probably should have pretended to listen,” John laments to himself, finishing off this first beer. “Now she’ll just talk his ear off.”

“Did you just say hi to Harley without telling me she was here?”

“Jesus Christ, Dave!” Why do people insist tonight on ambushing John into conversation from behind? “How come you’re out of the booth?” Isn’t he supposed to be mixing?

Dave lets out a minimally derisive noise, smiling a little to himself. “You kidding? This is just some bullshit with a few samples over it.”

“Coulda fooled me—what the hell, is that David8 from Prometheus?” Another movie Dave probably hasn’t seen, but the autotuned vocal samples sound perfect between the beats. Especially when they’re announcing ‘hello, I’m David’ every few seconds, prefacing the drops with words like ‘unnecessary violence’ and ‘distressing,’ and with a few fuller phrases sprinkled in there. ‘I understand human emotions, though I do not feel them myself’ is unnerving, but still, the whole thing is violent and dark. Just like Dave, John supposes.

Dave just lets out a little noncommittal sound before taking a swig of his drink. Not beer, John notices, but caffeine instead. When’s the last time he slept? “Get this: it’s my remix, of a ZEDD remix, of a Skrillex remix, of a Doors session. It’s like a fucking matryoshka doll of regressive unoriginality.” He grins, harder than John’s seen him smile in a while. “How’s that for some bullshit?”

“Well, whatever it is, you’re good at spinning it.” John’s still checking the door, but it’s hard to keep track of who’s here, because this place is filling up with more people he doesn’t know than people he does.

Dave stays by his side for a little while. There’s no need to talk. The music’s loud enough to fill the silence, and that’s honestly as much Dave communication as John can handle right now. “Holy shit,” Dave mutters, wiping his mouth before he crumples his now-empty can. “Egbert, are you seeing this?”

“Seeing what?” It’s kind of dark in here, not helped by the fact that quite a few people have started smoking inside.

“Dude.” Dave points, and John follows his finger—to the side room, where he just directed Jade. She’s smiling, a good amount of color in her face, as Gamzee passes her something made of glass. Okay, that’s—that’s his sister. And that’s a bong. And it’s at her mouth and jesus. She’s not a Hero of Breath, but that’s how hard she’s going right now, sucking in enough for three sets of lungs. Fifteen entire seconds of slurping sounds later, Dave whistles, long and low. “I swear to god, if she hit that any harder it would have gotten her pregnant.”

John slaps his hand into Dave’s chest. Hard. He doesn’t care that the other guy gets bowled over a little bit from the impact. “Don’t talk about my sister getting knocked up.”

“Why?” He smirks, the obnoxious grin splitting his face. “Can’t bear the thought your sis is getting dong?”

John just repeats the gesture. He hopes Dave’s heart is knocking around in his chest cavity. “You’re disgusting! That’s—that’s so gross, Dave, how would you feel if I started talking about _your_ sister like that?”

Dave just snorts out a laugh, and John can tell eyes are rolling behind those shades. “Oh, please, everyone knows Lalonde has vagina dentata. It’s why she’s such a raging dyke.”

“Okay, first of all, that doesn’t even make sense,” John points out. “Second of all, this conversation is going to a very, _very_ bad place, so. I’m going to go get another beer,” he says, waving his empty bottle in his hand, “and you’re going to get back in the booth so you can actually entertain us.” To effectuate this, John takes Dave, bodily turns him around, and encourages him back in the other direction. “Sound good?”

Dave gets back to his little corner, all right, but he does so by walking backwards and simultaneously flipping the bird. What an asshole, but John just chuckles to himself as he wanders back to the kitchen. There’s some frat guys at the fridge, but they get out of his way quickly enough. “Hey, Jake,” one of them starts saying, “about that—“

“Seriously?” Frat Dude shuts up. “ _Seriously?_ ” John repeats again. Sometimes it’s worth it to freak these guys out a little, at least for the looks on their faces when they realized they called him the wrong name. Is it still at the point that people mistake the two of them for each other? Whatever. John can deal with it occasionally. He hopes Jake can do the same. “Get outta here,” he says gently, “c’mon, I just want in the fridge.”

They scamper. It’s funny watching them scramble for their composure, especially when they realize they were talking to John Motherfucking Egbert. It’s not often John relishes his minor celebrity status, but that… that was one of those times. The interior of the fridge bathes him in light like the suitcase from Pulp Fiction, and it might as well be the Holy Grail in here, too. Something different this time, maybe that Shiner shit Dave swears by. When he closes the door, though, there’s someone leaning against the kitchen counter and staring at him disdainfully. “Are you imbibing?”

John can guess who this is. Black turtleneck, gray jeans, nubby horns, nose crinkled like there’s shit right under it, and a holier-than-thou attitude? “Kankri,” he greets him. “Sup?”

“I am wondering what is supposed to be so enjoyable about these events.” He sniffs pointedly.

John just shrugs in response, reaching behind him to try and find the bottle opener. “Good people, good music, good beer, good weed?” he suggests. There it is, and John barely has to try to pry off the cap of his drink. Forearms of a god, this one.

“I suppose the people here are tolerable enough,” Kankri admits.

“Wow. Thanks. Ringing endorsement right there,” John says sarcastically, though he’s smiling. It’s cute, in that dismissive way, that the troll’s trying so hard to hate what’s going on here. “C’mon, man, come out of the kitchen and get on the floor and have some _fun_ for once. This is about, y’know. Relaxing.” Instead of having that massive stick up his ass.

“From what I have seen thus far, relaxing involves indulging in a massive amount of intoxicants. No, I would much rather stay here.”

Why is he here, then? Is it just because this is Porrim’s place and he’s kind of like Porrim’s troll-best-friend thing? Or is he just waiting on someone to drag him out of his shell a little? “Have you even tried a beer before?”

“No,” Kankri admits, but there’s the hint of a pause there.

John doesn’t even think about it, just hands over his opened beer to this guy. If anyone looks like he needs to just… not think for a while, it’s him. “Just try it, okay? And if you don’t like it, whatever. Pour it out. I don’t care. But don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it.”

“’Scuse me,” comes from behind John. Before he can really move out of the way, there’s someone opening the refrigerator right into his side. “Want anything, Johnny-boy?”

“Roxy! I didn’t realize you were here!” It feels like forever since he last saw her. “Yeah, just grab me something, I don’t care.”

He’s in the middle of reaching for the bottle opener again when he hears a hissing sound, then a tinny clatter as a piece of metal falls to the floor. When he turns around, he sees Roxy wedging the second beer up against the door of the refrigerator, then slamming her hand down on it to force off the cap. Whoa. That’s a cool trick. “This good for you?” she asks, handing one out to him.

“Perfect.” It’s exactly the kind he had before. He takes the bottle from her, but makes sure to clink the neck of it against hers before he takes a sip. And this girl absolutely does not back down from a challenge, tossing back her head and guzzling down half of it at once. John has to stop midway through his pull just to watch the way her throat works as she swallows. Holy shit, she’s a beast. “It was good to see you, Kankri,” he offers, “but I’m just gonna go and—“

Before he can really process what’s happening, slim, cold fingers are around his wrist, and he’s being dragged bodily to the dancefloor. Oh well. Party pooping is going to have to wait.

\--

Roxy already can’t see straight. The music is getting to her. She needs to dance, and now. Might as well, since she fully intends on getting white-girl wasted tonight. It was serendipity that she bumped into John in the kitchen, god what a hottie, and he’s following her so willingly, one of his large hands coming down to cup around her hip as she cuts a path through to the center of the dance floor.

Well, maybe not a dance floor, but Porrim cleared enough space in the common area of the house for people to actually congregate and jump up and down a little bit. It’s still pretty early in the night—not far enough into this party that crazy shit starts happening—but the floor is already pulsing with repressed sexual energy. (Dave is very, very good at what he does.)

If Roxy’s being perfectly honest with herself, it’s kind of hard to dance with John because of how tall he is, but his hands. God, those hands, resting at her shoulders and running down her sides and circling round her waist, and she’s already dizzy even though she’s not even halfway done with this beer. She lets out a loud cry as the song changes to one she knows, dances harder, and she doesn’t miss how John’s eyes are focused on the neckline of her shirt.

At least he knows she’s not trying to lead him on. Other people are nice and all, yeah, but being in naked proximity to someone else isn’t really a thing Roxy enjoys. Maybe it was the growing up alone on a dystopian future Earth that did it to her, but it doesn’t keep her from immersing herself in this writhing, sweating, breathing crowd, dancing her heart out and drinking beer to keep herself cool and hydrated.

The music stops. People, including Roxy, whine at the loss. But then, just as abruptly, something else starts coming through the house speakers. “We have a very special guest tonight,” comes the Autotuned voice of Dave Strider, and a flashlight with far too many lumens is focused on the doorway. There he is! Dirk’s here, wearing a highly inappropriate POWER BOTTOMS 4 JESUS shirt, and Equius, another Void player, isn’t far behind. Finally, the VIP is here, and to celebrate the victory, Dave puts the ABSU fight song on.

_Hail to the victors valiant_  
_Hail to the conquering heroes_  
_Hail to ABSU_  
_The leaders and the best_  
_Hail to the victors valiant_  
_Hail to the conquering heroes_  
_Hail, hail, the Fighting Krakens_  
_Champions of the West_

And just when Roxy’s hands get sore from clapping, just when her throat gives out from triumphantly screaming the lyrics, Dave puts an epic drop into the song, going into an extended disco remix that sends the whole house wild. There’s cheering, hooting, and hollering, people pressing beers into Dirk’s hands and clapping him on the shoulders and tousling his hair. And the guy’s just taking all of it in stride, with that little bashful smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. Still, he’s trying to make his way through the room. Trying to see her, she realizes.

“Be right back,” she mouths up at John, who flashes her a thumbs-up after getting an extra grope in at her ass. (That one makes her smirk.) She vaults through the crowd, slipping under arms and between couples and through the tiniest gaps. That’s a Void player for ya. By the time she gets to Dirk’s side, he welcomes her with open arms, picking her up to hug her tight and kissing her affectionately on the cheek. “We won!” she screams.

“Damn right we did,” is his answer. He lets her down, clinks his beer to hers, and they down them simultaneously. Before they can even think about replacing them, brand-new cold ones are pressed into their hands. It pays to know the right people around here. “How long’s this been goin’ on?”

She shrugs, taking a slightly less ambitious sip of her drink this time. “Few hours, I guess. I think you guys are the last to show up.”

“Figures,” is all Dirk says to that, hiding his sudden grin at the opening of his bottle.

“Oh em gee,” Roxy says, deliberately using the acronym. “You got laid, didn’t you?”

Dirk shrugs, but he’s smiling too wide to take a drink. He’s even taller than John, but if Roxy can reach up, she can hit him like he deserves. Roxy slaps him on the chest, and all he does is make a little ‘heh’ that echoes in the bottle. “Best score of the night.”

“Which reminds me, I have your thing for you. Alpha testing went resoundingly well.” Just in case he missed the implications, she waggles her eyebrows lasciviously at him.

He’s not looking to catch the gesture, though. Maybe it’s because he has a foot-and-a-half altitude advantage on her, but he seems to be scanning the crowd for someone. “Did you see where he went?”

“Equius?”

“No,” he corrects her swiftly, the vowel with a tone of vehemence. “He’s here, I know he is, everyone who’s anyone is here—“

Roxy rolls her eyes. “Let it go, hon.”

“Like hell—“ Dirk sucks in a breath like he’s been punched in the stomach. “Oh, god.”

“What?” Roxy can’t see through the crowd so easily, but her vision can slither through the spaces and pick up the gaps. What Dirk can see is elevated from the dancefloor, anyway. Two figures are on the stairs, both wearing ABSU windbreakers. They both have a shock of black hair, but one has a set of troll horns, and when the other bobs their head Roxy can see a flash of light from eyeglass lenses. Given the cargo shorts, that one’s Jake, and the little one with the horns is—whatever her name is, that other obnoxious little cheerleader.

They’re dancing. Well, sort of, if you can call blatantly sexual grinding dancing. And kissing, too, Roxy can’t forget the kissing. Jake’s hands are everywhere on her body—her chest, her hips, her rear, and Roxy can tell he’s tempted to just pick her up by the backs of her knees and hold her close that way. The little troll pulls back at that like she’s been burned, but that wicked grin is still on her face. She whirls around, starts ascending the rest of the stairs, and all the while her fingers have a death grip on Jake’s wrist as he willingly follows.

Even under all the throbbing beats, Roxy can hear a sound like Dirk was just stepped on. She can follow his logic, too: she’s a Heart player, she’s on a sports team, she was at the game, why, why her, why not him. When Roxy turns around, Dirk just looks down at her with that wild, desperate gleam in his eyes. And what she’ll never tell him is that she knows exactly how he feels.

\--

The Earth’s gravity feels biased towards Kankri’s right side. More than once he stumbles as he tries to make his way to the kitchen to where Porrim is congregating with her comrades. His fingertips are tingling and his face feels warm. Maybe he’s drunk, but not from that much. Definitely intoxicated, though, and it’s obvious when he apologizes to a side table before finally finding the few people he knows and trusts.

Why them? If he’s going to be drunk, he may as well be safe. Drunk, or free? His inhibitions on enjoying himself at this party went the same way as the empty bottle when he finished his one beer, and while he’s nowhere close to dancing, he still finds it in him to smile and nod along a little. The beat moves through him, fluid, as he crosses the dance floor.

“Kankri,” Porrim greets him warmly when she sees him. When he stumbles, though, she frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Never better,” he reassures her, though his consonants aren’t as pronounced as he would like. Yes, these are his Beforan chums, and he can trust himself around them. Latula’s here, fingers laced with Porrim’s, and he doesn’t even have the strength of character for one of his usual admonishments for the two of them that boils down to ‘just choose a quadrant already and stick with it.’ She looks gorgeous, as always. (Which she? Does it matter?) “Where’s Mituna?” He might be the only other troll that feels as discomposed at a party as Kankri does.

“On the conciliatory cushion.” Latula gestures towards the couch, then leans closer to nuzzle her cartilaginous nub into Porrim’s ear. A human passes by with a nutritional plateau filled with tiny glasses, and both girls take one, then toss it back to down the liquid inside.

No harm in trying, Kankri supposes. When he’s offered one, he does the same—but if he’d known it would taste so foul, perhaps not. Another to wash the taste away, and he’s headed for the couch, where Mituna is nattering, gesticulating wildly, and—is that—that’s Cronus. Cronus is the one listening with rapt attention, with his arm across the back of the couch, inching closer and closer and with his hand already on Mituna’s knee.

Something inside of Kankri snaps. Of all the trolls from their session, Mituna was the one most haunted by the experience. He’s fragile. Delicate. And of all the trolls Kankri knows, Mituna is the only one with whom he would ever consider a flushed relationship. Yet this—this cretin is hovering over him, pretending he knows him, insidiously trying to worm his way into Mituna’s presence, and Kankri is livid. Righteously indignant, angry for his friend. Definitely not for himself, because that would border on black, and of course he cannot allow himself to indulge in such things.

His class is not one of protecting, but he’s seeing red right now, his own blood color, and he refuses to let this go. Mituna needs someone to defend him, to help him when he cannot help himself, to keep him away from those who would harm him. Kankri wants to be that someone, and he can do it right now, if only by laying a hand on Cronus’s shoulder. “Ampora.”

“What?” He sounds irritated, as if Kankri had just interrupted him in the middle of something important. “I’m tryin’ to talk to ‘Tuna here.”

“I think we are all conversing with Mituna here,” Kankri enunciates clearly, “but I need a moment to speak to you. Privately, if I may.”

Cronus stares up at him. If looks could kill, Kankri is sure he would be dead. But he lets out an exaggerated sigh and stands nonetheless. “Whaddaya got for me, Vantas?”

Kankri grabs the symbol on the front of his t-shirt and leads him away. He will not subject Mituna to such a confrontation, if only one of words—the poor wriggler has seen enough violence in his day without Kankri contributing to it. Instead, Kankri drags the royal-V to a place relatively far from the party—Porrim’s doorway. “Stay away from him,” is all Kankri can think to say.

“Or what?” Cronus just smirks.

“Cronus, I am not one for physical intimidation or for threats. But your continued communication with Mituna is distasteful and cruel. Everyone can see you are manipulating him to accept your presence. What you do with him after he is acclimated to you, I can only begin to deduce, but your intentions cannot be pure.” Even as he carefully outlines every syllable, Kankri can feel his usually-precise speech coming out stuttered. He’s not intoxicated, but this throbbing feeling from his blood pusher isn’t helping.

The violetblood just laughs. “All right, ya got me. I got a huge flushcrush on the kid. Who doesn’t?”

“Be that as it may,” Kankri talks over his feeble excuse, “you are not to corner him, abuse him, verbally belittle him, or in any way attempt to harm him. Your grub-fisted attempts to flushed flirt are meant to confuse and bewilder, of which Mituna already has had enough.”

“Oh, I get it.” That same light-hearted manner. Are all Hope players completely insufferable? As he speaks, he leans down further and further, until his breath heats Kankri’s face with every word. “You got a flushcrush on him too, is that it? Wanna keep me away from your prize?”

“He is no one’s prize,” Kankri reminds him. “He is a person in his own right, and who he chooses to be with is his own business. You are not to make his choices for him, and if I see you near him again—“

[Cronus closes the distance between them and plants his lips on Kankri’s, and Kankri swoons.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1234621)

\--

“Tavros Nitram to the front desk please,” comes over the house speaker, “front desk, Tavros Nitram.” Unfortunately, Tavros is too busy to answer the call right away. Specifically, there’s a very beautiful blue-blood with a metal arm who’s giving him what basically amounts to a lap-dance. Being in a wheelchair, even though it sucks why, does have its benefits. Every bump-n-grind ends up like this, and he’s at eye level for some choice ass, especially of the Serket kind. (Booty like that should be illegal.)

Dave’s still on the equivalent of the intercom, though, paging people to come meet with him. “Jade Harley to the front desk please,” comes out next, in rhythm with the underlying song. Oh. Oh, shit. Tavros can see where this is going. And if last time is any indication, this time is gonna rock, too.

Because last time Dave called him and Jade to meet him in the booth, Jade laid down a bass solo with about twelve different wubbing footpedals in-between him and Dave exchanging some sicknasty raps. And while there’s always room for improvement, Tavros just likes the exhilaration of it, spinning words and combining phrases to make rhymes that bury stupid humans six feet under.

“I gotta go,” he says, palming at Vriska’s rear to push it away from the vicinity of his face. “No, I gotta,” he says when she won’t really move. Fine. If she’s planted where she is, he can at least get one last grope in before he wheels around the other way to see Dave near his setup. No one’s looking at waist height for someone to come through, but thankfully, the horns help him clear a path through the crowd.

He gives a brief up-nod to John when he catches the guy’s eye. When John mouths something about why the wheelchair, Tavros just shrugs. After the game and all that cheerleading going on, the legs started hurting. He needs to ask Equius for a recalibration sometime soon, but not so long as being a weensie little cripple has its subversive benefits.

“My man,” Dave offers him when he sees Tavros approaching. Their hands come together in one of those complicated bulge-bump handshakes—man, it’s been too long. Jade flashes him a smile and a wave, but given those cords she’s fooling with, she’s trying to figure out an input for her suddenly-de-captchalogue’d bass. “You know what we’re doin’, right?”

“I’m supposed to save the vitriol for on the floor,” Tavros dodges, insinuating that Dave’s stupid for even asking, and Dave just smiles at that. His grin looks stretched wrong across his face, though, and his tone seems hollow—well, more hollow than usual. “One mic or two?”

“Just the one. Better cinematics if we pass it between verses.” Tavros nods. It’s not just the words, it’s the theatre of it all. The music fades away to nothing but a backbeat. Dave takes a mic from his setup, comes out from behind the booth, and gives Jade a thumbs-up. A dark, distorted bassline starts growling in the background. Once Dave signals for lights, he’s bathed in them, looking nearly angelic in his paleness, and the crowd starts going nuts. “Check, check two,” he raps into the mic. “To be or not to be, that is the question.” What a tool. That’s how he does his mic checks, though, by reciting weird human poetry.

It takes him a few minutes to fiddle with the inputs to get them where he likes them. Meanwhile, Jade’s been looping a subwoofer-shattering wub until it’s good enough for Dave’s particular taste. She’s lit up like the Fourth of July, and Tavros can recognize that particular hair-tangling as post-coital. Still, she’s good with a guitar, and she’s known for doing her best work while baked to the gills.

Dave micromanages the living shit out of his boards, then hands Tavros the mic. Once it’s out of his range, he simpers, “Ladies first.”

Time to set some sick fires under this white boy’s ass.

_Milkin’ all your time when all you gotta do is rhyme_  
_Couldn’t put two words together to save your fucking life_  
_You call that a sword? Yeah right, more like a fucking knife_  
_All your bitches be up in this and I’m taking them to wife_  
_You say you take pride in your white trashy background_  
_How many people know the world was your playground?_  
_You screamed in on a meteor with a silver spoon in your mouth_  
_Your brother had an empire, you were king of the South_  
_So tell me again how hard life was for you_  
_The only hardship I see is you don’t know two plus two_  
_You can’t add it up, ‘cause you’re too dumb to see_  
_Someone else took your throne and they’re sitting on it—that’s me_  
_I’m shitting on your throne and claiming it for my own_  
_Throwin’ down the mic, now let’s see you reap what I’ve sown_

A good start. Crowd’s pumped. Tavros is doing pretty well for someone without home field advantage, so to speak. Now, how exactly does Dave think he’s coming back from those sick burns?

_Remind me who you are again? You think you’re such a wizard_  
_You’re nothing but a mudblood, makin’ me sick in my gizzard_  
_Yeah that’s right, I know your blood type, ‘cause I got it in my teeth_  
_Spit it out, not even fit to be in my mouth, keep it clean_  
_You’re not even original, you’re so fucking derivative_  
_You’re living in his shadow and trying to live up to his narrative_  
_He’s not you and it’s not true so stop with your pretending_  
_Fairy tales aren’t even cute, so what it is, is plain offending_  
_You’re not Peter Pan and your bitch isn’t Wendy_  
_She ain’t even Tinkerbell, so you’re just a fuckin’ pansy_  
_Dolling up in dresses and pretending like there’s fairy dust_  
_Why don’t you throw yourself off a cliff and fucking rust_  
_This is how I go at you, I know it’s fucking heavy_  
_So I’m gonna pass the mic and your comeback better be ready_

Ready? Shit yeah, Tavros has been preparing for this since that little jab at his place on the hemospectrum. The crowd’s wild and worked up—the battle of words has drawn a lot of good attention. Time to up his game or he won’t keep it.

_English is my second language but I’m taking you to school_  
_Can’t even string your words together, you’re making yourself a fool_  
_How about you spit my bulge out before you talk to me_  
_And stop licking my shame globes, you’re far below my dignity_  
_Yo’ seedflaps way too dry for you to be riding me like this_  
_Your brother is probably the only reason you like penis_  
_When’s the first time he diddled you? Were you seven?_  
_When he used you like a bucket did you think you were in heaven?_  
_And what about your doppelganger? Aren’t you his shadow?_  
_When you got so many issues all you’re giving me is ammo_  
_This battle is a war and not like edits on your wiki_  
_Wiki wiki wow wah, bend over, you owe me a quicky_  
_I got nothin’ else to say that people don’t already know_  
_So take your fuckin’ mic back and let’s get on with the show_

He lost the crowd with that human genitals thing. Mental note for later. The crowd started going wild, though, when he started insinuating all that incest. Interesting. Must be some human taboo. And all that stuff about hop off my bulge, that was good material. Dave just grins at him wickedly when he takes the mic back, though, and Tavros can tell he’s in for a hell of a ride.

_You say I ain’t authentic but half your body’s made of metal_  
_You’re cut off below the waist, do you even have a genital?_  
_Before you say ‘hop off my bulge’ you should make sure you have one_  
_But I can say suck mine, and that’s the only way you’ll get some_  
_Pretty tough talk for a guy who’s in a wheelchair_  
_So let’s go ahead and take a second look at how you got there_  
_Basically what it boils down to is that, Nitram, no means no_  
_She had to throw you off a motherfucking cliff to tell you so_  
_Couldn’t find the strength to kill her so you left her on her quest bed_  
_She got you back for that one and she murdered you again_  
_She’s got the ass and titties but she’s a goddamn ratchet mess_  
_But if you wanna dip your dick in it, then good night and God bless_  
_This is Dave Strider, that’s Tavros Nitram, playin’ up the rap war_  
_Gonna send it over to Jade Harley on that bitchin’ bass guitar_

Jade starts going to town on the thing, working the crowd up into a veritable frenzy. That was… exhilarating. Sharp, yeah, but Tavros threw some nasty words out there, too, and Dave gave as good as he got. “Great job, man,” Dave says, giving him another of those handshakes before leaning in for a one-armed hug. Before Tavros can wheel away, though, it seems Dave has some last words. “Oh, and Nitram?”

“Yeah?” What now?

Dave just smirks. Tavros swears he can see the hint of a wink behind those obnoxious shades of his. “Go get you some. She is so hot for you.”

Damn straight. Tavros just smiles back before popping a wheelie and making his way back onto the dance floor. Jade’s on fire, Tavros’s chest vibrating with the force of her playing, and Porrim’s house is alive with bodies writhing to the beat. In a few days, Tavros is going to get a handsome check after Dave puts the battle up for download, but for now, he’s got a lap dance to get back to.

\--

It’s completely beyond John how Dave manages to spin out raps that are that coherent on that short of notice. Tavros gave as good as he got, though, and the underlying music was amazing. Everything about tonight has been completely off the chain insane, including Vriska grinding her ass up against him while the guys were rapping. She really turns into a ratchet mess when she drinks. Needs a babysitter.

“Shit, did you see that?” Dave’s not going back to the booth quite yet, it seems, instead taking Vriska’s place as she goes to rub up against Tavros instead. (Really. Really needs a babysitter.) “Get me an extinguisher, because I just set this place on fire.”

“More like get you a salve because you just got some sick burns.” Dave throws his arms around John’s shoulders, starts mock-humping up against him like some of the other people on the floor are doing to each other, and John rolls his eyes and laughs. “Cut it out, you’re like a stupid dog. Bad Dave. Down, Dave.”

At least he stops with the exaggerated hip movements. It was kind of funny, John has to admit that much. But it starts getting serious when Dave gives him a suave look over the top rims of his shades, pulling him down with his hands at the back of John’s neck. “Pucker up, buttercup,” is all the notice he gives before he gets up on tiptoe and puts his lips to John’s.

Well. That’s. A thing that’s happening, apparently. One of the crazier parts of the evening, to be sure, but John knows he himself tends to get affectionate when he drinks, and Dave will do anything for a publicity stunt or celebrity attention. There are flashes going off all around them—John can see them from under his eyelids, a strobe effect in the darkness of Porrim’s house—and he knows these are going up on Ebubbles just as soon as these Tri-Delts can get a stable internet connection. Great. Just great. Time for more headlines dragging him into the spotlight. It’s fine when it’s just Dave, because he actually likes that shit, but John… After the Crisis, he just doesn’t want anyone prying into his personal life any more. The only people allowed are the few people he learned to trust.

Dave’s one of them. And once the initial shock of it wears off, John starts actually processing the fact that—Dave is kissing him. He is kissing Dave. They’re kissing. However it’s phrased, there are two people here with lips on lips and it’s a thing. Yes. Dave’s entire body is tense, practically trembling with the effort of holding himself up, together, overcaffeinated and too much stress—but his lips, his lips are soft, his mouth pliant, and he smells like ironically-used little girl strawberry shampoo over the sharpness of work-hard sweat and overheated electronics when John pushes his nose into Dave’s cheek.

John didn’t realize he was so thin. Light. Bird-boned, nothing but sinew. He’s lean, compact, self-contained. Though Dave isn’t much shorter than him, John’s very, very aware of how much taller he is, broader and bulkier and when John puts his hands on Dave’s shoulders he feels like Dave might crumble. Dave’s body pressed against his feels… small.

Then Dave pulls back. For an instant, he’s angelic, his eyes half-closed behind his shades, bottom lip sucked between his teeth. Then he has to go and open his mouth, his face splitting into a shit-eating grin. “Thanks, chump,” he says affectionately, patting John on the shoulder condescendingly before he disappears back into the booth. What a little shit.

Still, not even that ruins the night. In one corner, Karkat is single-handedly beating every challenger at some very old-fashioned Mario Kart 64; next to him, Sollux is kicking ass at DDR. Someone in Porrim’s room who is definitely not Porrim is screaming “oh my God” loud enough that it can be heard over the music. Above the kitchen, people can hear a distinct thudding sound from upstairs and a yowling sound like a cat being mauled in a blender. Out back, Horuss and Rufioh are letting people play jousting chicken on their backs. On the floor, Vriska’s so drunk she’s got her shirt off, leaning over and practically letting Tavros motorboat her in the guise of dancing with him.

Speaking of dancing, John’s surprised when Sollux comes up and starts grinding into him from behind. “Thought you were in a DDR tournament,” John yells over the music.

He can feel more than see Sollux’s shrug in response. “Figured I’d stop spazzing like a freakout weasel and actually dance like a real person.”

“I’m certainly not complaining.” The way Sollux moves is fluid and sweet, organic and perfectly in tune with the music. The occasional spark arcs between their bodies, but for the most part, the troll is hands-off, preferring teasing contact to full-frontal assault. It’s driving John insane. The music, the atmosphere, the mild buzz he has going on, and he wishes moments like this didn’t have to end.

And then the music goes dead.

The whole house freezes. An angry, ringing silence builds in John’s ears. And when he looks to the booth, he sees Dave on the floor, motionless.

\--

Sollux has never admired John more than in this moment.

The crowd is hushed. Bodies come to a halt from where they’ve been swaying. A buzzing sort of chatter builds up—why did the music stop? what happened? did we get busted? is it the cops?—but instead of being one of the questioners, John starts pushing his way through the sea of people, bodily shouldering his way through the crowd to get to the DJ booth. “’Scuse me,” he’s saying, trying to be polite even when Sollux can taste the tension in his voice, “’scuse me, emergency, gotta get through. ‘Scuse me, lemme through, that’s it.” Sollux follows in his wake. He’s never seen John so agitated.

By the time Sollux reaches the edge of the crowd, John’s already kneeling down at Dave’s side. Rolling him over. Putting his fingertips to the other boy’s throat. That must be where humans have a noticeable pulse point. “Shit,” John’s muttering under his breath, “shit, Dave, oh god, Dave, don’t…” He tries holding his hand over Dave’s mouth next—looking for the slight feel of an exhale, by the looks of it.

Sollux doesn’t know what to say. What to do. John’s on the verge of what he recognizes as a panic attack, sucking in frantic breaths as his hands start to shake. All Sollux can think is to put his hand gently on John’s shoulder, remind him that he’s not the only one here trying to deal with the problem. “JB,” he says, but there’s nothing to put behind it.

John tenses at the hand on him, but when he realizes it’s from Sollux, he seems to relax. Breathe a little easier. He puts his fingers over Sollux’s, gives them a squeeze, but after that small bit of reassurance, it’s back to work. “Okay,” he says, and then “okay” again, before he tells Sollux, “stand back.”

“Need my help?” Sollux offers.

“Not yet, but keep that psionics thing in reserve.” This. This is the friendleader leaderfriend Sollux was first attracted to, the strength of character that keeps him in John’s orbit. Sollux is only too willing to follow directions, backing off to give John—and Dave—some space.

He almost steps on Karkat when he draws back. “What’s going—“

“Don’t know,” Sollux admits, but just in case John needs absolute concentration, he claps a hand over his roommate’s mouth.

John’s eyes are unreadable behind the glint of his glasses. A breeze moves through the room, leaving prickles on Sollux’s skin. John, though, John looks like he’s in the middle of a wind tunnel, a vortex circled in on himself, his clothes pulling and flapping, his hair ruffled to standing on end. When John’s hand moves from Dave’s mouth to his throat, the air pressure in the room drops enough that Sollux has to pop his ears. And when John’s hand finally lands squarely over Dave’s chest, where his blood pusher ought to be, there’s a loud, gasping inhale, as if Dave just surfaced from drowning.

The wind subsides. John’s fingertips go back to Dave’s human pulse point; his eyebrows come together in concentration. Sollux takes a step closer, then another when John doesn’t stop him. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” John says tersely. “Just unconscious. Here. I’ll carry him home.” He’s strong enough to pull Dave off the floor without any help; his version of ‘carry’ is to have Dave draped over his back like a rucksack, John’s shoulders in his armpits and John’s hands under his knees. “Party’s still on, everybody, show’s over, carry on,” he says louder. He’s scanning the room, looking for someone, and then he nods when he gets eye contact.

From who? Oh, right. The hostess. Porrim comes to Dave’s multi-paned spaceware display, touches a few buttons, and the music starts up again. It’s not as loud or insistent any more, but it’s a song people recognize, and the chatting and dancing comes back in full force soon enough. “I’ll pack his stuff,” Sollux can see her mouth to John under the beats.

John nods and heads for the door. Sollux goes to follow him, but John seems confused. “You don’t have to leave, I told you, party’s still on.”

Sollux shrugs in response. “After that, I don’t think anything else interesting is going to happen tonight.”

“You have a point.” John laughs, but the sound is mirthless. When they push outside to the front lawn, the night is cool and the stars dark. John doesn’t complain once about the weight on his back, though he does have to shift Dave up in his hold a few times before Sollux pulls Dave’s arms further forward to balance him better. “Did you see if he’d been drinking?”

“I didn’t think he drank.” All Sollux saw him guzzle down tonight was copious amounts of Red Bull.

John’s still trying to puzzle out the cause. “Maybe a caffeine overdose, then.”

Poor kid. Sollux knows exactly what happened, but he bites his lip, stops his conclusion from spilling out. No need for John to fret more than he’s already worrying right now. “Good thing you were there,” Sollux points out. “That wind thing—“

“Don’t,” John cuts over him. “I don’t like doing that. It’s not a party trick.”

“I was just saying, I think it helped,” Sollux clarifies quickly, before John can get any more somber.

“Yeah, well.” John shrugs again, keeping Dave in that piggyback hold. “Hey, wait, don’t go.”

Sollux stops in his tracks. “This is the way back to my dorm,” he points out.

“I know, but aren’t you going to say good night or anything?” John’s stopped at the fork in the path, looking absurdly hopeful in the low light of the stars even with (what Sollux feels comfortable as calling) his moirail unconscious on his back.

“You’re thuch a doofuth,” Sollux says. Why must the lisp only come out when he’s around John? Still, it’s nothing to leave a light kiss on his lips, a quick smooch before he heads back. “Go home, JB.”

“Text me!” John calls after him. What a dork. Still, Sollux smiles, hand twitching for the phone in his pocket.


	8. Chapter 8

\-- tipsyGnostalgic  [TG] began pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 11:48 --  
TG: u got kinda turnt last nite sis  
TG: u ok or u got bottle flu?  
TT: I just threw up the afterparty.  
TG: shittttttt gurl  
TG: need a bbysitter?  
TT: I'd rather wallow in my regret alone.  
TT: Although if you could use your void powers to block out the sun for the rest of the day, I would appreciate it immensely.  
TG: no can do sry :(  
TG: not unless u want me 2 maek u a blk hole on accident  
TT: That does sound amusing.  
TT: Perhaps another time.  
TG: u sure ur gonna b ok?  
TT: Positive.  
TT: Check back in an hour. I'll tell you I'm swearing off alcohol.  
TT: Then watch me do this again next weekend.  
TG: rite ther w u sis  
TT: How are you so chipper?  
TT: You were off your left tit last night, too.  
TG: ~magic~  
TT: Teach me your wizardly ways.  
TG: its not tht hard rly  
TG: what u do when u get home is  
TG: u have an entire thingy of h2o  
TG: and a few tylenols  
TG: and a vitamin  
TG: and a rly good tolerance 2 begin w  
TT: Thank you. That's so helpful.  
TG: the secret is 2 drink alot  
TT: I'd have some hair of the dog if I weren't so convinced it would end up where the afterparty went.  
TG: just a lil and i promise ull feel like 10x better!  
TT: I'll take your word for it.  
TT: And Roxy?  
TG: ya  
TT: Thank you.  
TT: For making sure I'm okay.  
TT: No one else even bothers.  
TG: y would i not tho  
TG: im like ur mom lol  
TG: just take care of urself ok  
TT: I will. I promise.  
\-- tentacleTherapist  [TT] ceased pestering tipsyGnostalgic  [TG] at 12:09 --

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 14:23 --  
TG: hey can you do me a favor  
EB: dave!!!  
EB: are you okay?  
EB: what happened last night?  
TG: so can you do me a favor or not  
EB: ... i can do you a favor.  
TG: i need you to check something for me  
EB: what do you need me to check?  
EB: because i'm kind of at a thing with my dad right now.  
TG: release your sphincter you can do it from your phone  
TG: i just need you to go to this url  
TG: http://ebub.bl/4131025  
TG: and tell me what number is showing under the download button  
EB: hold on, i need to keep my phone hidden.  
EB: it says 1.3.  
TG: 1300  
TG: not bad  
EB: not 1.3k.  
EB: 1.3 million.  
TG: oh  
TG: you gotta be shitting me egbert  
EB: why would i lie to you?  
EB: i don't even know what i'd be lying about.  
EB: downloads of what?  
TG: the mixtape i uploaded last night  
EB: ... holy shit.  
TG: thats right  
TG: im kind of a big deal  
EB: i also know for a fact that you cry when you listen to enya and you scream in stark raving terror whenever you see what might even look like a smuppet.  
EB: so keep that ego in check, okay?  
EB: also, i know it's none of my business, but what the hell happened with you last night?  
TG: ill let you get back to whatever you were doing  
TG: where are you anyway  
EB: on the res like i am every sunday.  
TG: oh yeah thats right  
TG: dancing in a circle around a bonfire  
TG: summoning the rain gods for a benevolent harvest or someshit  
TG: painting with all the colors of the wind  
TG: whats your indian name again  
TG: derps with air  
EB: that's not funny, dave.  
TG: shit yeah it is  
TG: do you know how hard it is to get a rise out of you  
TG: gotta rib you every once and a while  
EB: once in a while.  
TG: once and a while  
TG: drag you back down to earth  
TG: optimistic little shit with your head in the clouds all the time  
EB: i have to go.  
TG: fine get all asschapped about it  
EB: i am not butthurt!  
EB: i just have to do a little dance.  
TG: make a little love  
TG: get down tonight  
EB: go fuck yourself. :)  
EB: feel better!  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 14:40 --

\-- tentacleTherapist  [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 14:54 --  
TT: Hello, Dave.  
TG: no  
TT: You sound terrible.  
TG: yeah well  
TG: ive kinda been out of it for most of today  
TT: I'm fine, by the way.  
TG: no one cares lalonde  
TT: Oh, dear, you really are cranky today, aren't you.  
TT: Are you feeling all right?  
TG: fuck no  
TT: I assume the regeneration isn't going well.  
TG: why do you think im doing a regen  
TG: for all you know im hungover as shit  
TT: You weren't drinking last night.  
TG: fuck you  
TT: I can't believe you worked yourself to death.  
TT: Again.  
TT: John's worried.  
TG: hes a worrier  
TG: hes like a fucking dad  
TG: trying to hover over me  
TG: feeding me like im a fucking baby bird  
TG: making sure i sleep  
TG: ill sleep when im dead  
TT: Literally.  
TG: what  
TG: dont look at me like that  
TG: i can tell youre glaring at me  
TG: contrary to popular opinion you cant actually reach through my phone and strangle me to death  
TT: Would that I could.  
TT: My glare is less one of disdain and more one of envy.  
TG: well  
TG: dont  
TG: this blows major schlong  
TT: There's an image.  
TG: just  
TG: ugh  
TG: im fine okay  
TG: yeah i died last night  
TG: not a big deal  
TG: not the first time  
TG: wont be the last  
TG: im a big boy lalonde  
TG: im gonna be okay  
TG: and if not  
TG: still not any of your business  
TT: I'll take your word for it.  
TT: Oh, and before I go: congratulations.  
TT: You deserve every download.  
TG: you saw that huh  
TT: John told me.  
TG: did you listen to it  
TT: I recognized some of it from last night, but not all.  
TG: what did you think  
TT: It wasn't bad.  
TG: actually coming from you that means a hell of a lot  
TT: You're welcome.  
\-- tentacleTherapist  [TT] ceased pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 15:48 --

\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] began trolling ectoBiologist  [EB] at 15:03 --  
TA: hey you.  
EB: hey you.  
EB: i can't really talk right now.  
TA: what now.  
EB: i'm at a thing.  
TA: what kiind of thiing?  
EB: it... might be hard to explain.  
EB: do trolls have tribes?  
TA: we have ca2te2 but that'2 probably not the 2ame thing.  
EB: okay. so.  
EB: in america there's people whose ancestors lived here and people whose ancestors didn't live here.  
EB: i'm one of those people in that first group.  
EB: and it's kind of like we have our own nations and stuff still.  
EB: that's what a tribe is.  
TA: ye2 but what are you doiing.  
EB: a thing with my tribe.  
EB: just some ritual religion stuff.  
EB: my dad drags me out to the reservation every sunday.  
EB: it's supposed to enculturate me or something? i don't know.  
TA: 2o you can't get together riight now?  
EB: unfortunately no.  
EB: which reminds me, i need to message karkat.  
EB: at least dave checked in.  
EB: i'm kinda worried about him.  
TA: 2hould ii go check iin on hiim?  
EB: i don't think it's worth it.  
EB: you probably have other stuff going on.  
EB: and he said it was fine.  
EB: he's a big boy, he can take care of himself.  
EB: not that well, but still.  
EB: he's an adult.  
EB: and he's a stubborn little shit.  
EB: doesn't matter how worried i get!  
TA: you 2ound mad.  
EB: i'm not mad!  
TA: you're mad.  
EB: i'm mad.  
EB: i'll get over it, though.  
EB: he does this all the time, i'm kind of used to it.  
EB: what were you thinking we were going to do?  
EB: we don't have class tomorrow.  
TA: ii know.  
TA: ii wa2 thiinkiing maybe 2ome viideo game2, 2ome 2u2tenance, and maybe a liitle 2omethiing el2e.  
EB: i'm listening.  
TA: ii could maybe 2tart refiiniing my p2iioniics.  
TA: tho2e hand2 were uniintentiional but ii could feel 2hiit through them.  
EB: really?  
TA: iit diidn't hurt, diid iit?  
EB: nah.  
EB: kind of the opposite, actually.  
TA: 2o iif ii managed to 2liip one of tho2e hand2 iin your pant2 and curled iit around your bulge...  
EB: sol.  
EB: my dad is sitting right here.  
EB: please don't give me a boner.  
TA: 2o... not now?  
EB: not now.  
EB: we don't have class tomorrow morning.  
TA: morning meal?  
EB: breakfast, yeah, that's what i was thinking.  
EB: how about you stop by my room instead?  
EB: i kind of don't want karkat to murder me.  
TA: wiill DV bee there 2tiill?  
EB: probably not.  
TA: perfect.  
TA: 2ee you then ii gue22.  
EB: see you!  
\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] ceased trolling ectobiologist  [EB] at 15:53 --

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering carcinoGeneticist  [CG] at 15:55 --  
EB: i won't be able to make it today.  
CG: WHY NOT?  
EB: i'm at a thing with my dad.  
CG: AGAIN?  
EB: every sunday.  
EB: except today i've been here for like five hours and we're still not done yet.  
EB: something to do with lunar cycles, i don't know.  
CG: WHAT'S THE NAME OF YOUR TRIBE AGAIN?  
EB: i'm still not telling you.  
EB: i'm really sorry!  
EB: i really do like hanging out with you.  
EB: especially when it's our brosephus friendleader bulgebump or whatever you call it.  
CG: WEEKLY FRIENDLEADER BULGEBUMPING ASSHOLE CONFERENCE.  
EB: yeah.  
EB: that.  
EB: anyway, i won't get back to campus until late.  
EB: i still need to talk to you, though.  
EB: i just have to hide my phone from my dad.  
CG: WHAT NOW?  
EB: remember that time where i went out to dinner with your roommate and you didn't really give me any explanations but expected me to figure it out myself?  
CG: I PURPOSEFULLY IMBIBED ENOUGH LAST NIGHT TO ERASE THAT USELESS CONVERSATION FROM MY THINKPAN.  
EB: speaking of last night.  
EB: has sollux been on ebubbles yet today?  
CG: HE DOESN'T REALLY SOCIAL MEDIA MUCH.  
EB: can you make sure he just.  
EB: doesn't do that thing?  
CG: NOT REALLY, BUT OKAY.  
CG: I'LL BITE.  
CG: WHAT DON'T YOU WANT HIM TO SEE?  
EB: um.  
EB: okay.  
EB: see.  
EB: here's the thing.  
EB: the thing is.  
CG: HOLY SHIT, JUST GET TO YOUR FUCKING POINT ALREADY.  
EB: dave kissed me last night.  
CG: ... AND?  
EB: what do you mean, and?  
CG: AND WHAT'S THE BIG DEAL?  
EB: what do you mean, what's the big deal?  
CG: OH, SWISS FUCKING CHEESE, NOT THIS CULTURAL DIFFERENCES THING AGAIN.  
CG: SIT THE FUCK DOWN AND SHUT THE FUCK UP BECAUSE I'M ABOUT TO SCHOOLFEED YOU UP THE BONE BULGE ABOUT ROMANCING THE TROLL.  
EB: i'm not exactly going anywhere.  
CG: GOOD.  
CG: SO TELL ME WHAT YOU DO KNOW AND WE CAN WORK FROM THERE.  
EB: i know there's quadrants.  
EB: one of them is <3\. that's the normal one.  
EB: and there's three other ones and they're just weird.  
CG: THANKS FOR INSULTING MY CULTURE  
CG: NO, DON'T TRY TO EXPLAIN YOURSELF  
CG: SHUT UP  
CG: JUST SHUT UP  
CG: SHH  
CG: DON'T SPEAK  
CG: I SWEAR TO MY ASSHEADED ANCESTOR I EXPLAINED ALL THIS SHIT TO YOU THREE SWEEPS AGO.  
EB: surprise, surprise, i didn't listen.  
CG: DO YOU EVER LISTEN TO A GRUBSHITTING WORD ANYBODY SAYS?  
CG: DON'T BOTHER ANSWERING  
CG: THAT'S A RHETORICAL QUESTION  
CG: WE ALL KNOW YOU'D RATHER SHIT YOUR LITTLE PISSGRUBBING ASSWRAPS THAN ACTUALLY PAY ATTENTION  
CG: YES, THERE WILL BE A QUIZ AFTER THIS  
CG: IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE UP TO SHENANIGANS WITH MY ROOMMATE, YOU NEED TO LEARN THIS.  
CG: YOU'RE NOT GOING TO UNDERSTAND IT BECAUSE YOU'RE A FUCKING MORON, BUT YOU'RE GOING TO KNOW IT.  
CG: SEE, FOR A TROLL, SAYING SOMETHING IS ROMANTIC IS LIKE SAYING THAT THERE'S WEATHER  
CG: THAT MEANS JACK SHIT WITH A SIDE OF FUCKALL WITHOUT ANY CONTEXT  
CG: IS IT RAINING? IS IT HOT?  
CG: THAT'S HOW STUPID YOU HUMANS SOUND WHENEVER YOU TALK ABOUT TROLL ROMANCE, YOU UNSOPHISTICATED FUCKS.  
CG: LET'S START WITH QUADRANTS  
CG: QUAD  
CG: FOUR  
CG: LIKE A SQUARE CUT IN HALF AND THEN CUT IN HALF AGAIN  
CG: I LITERALLY CANNOT MAKE IT ANY SIMPLER THAN THIS  
CG: THE ONE SET OF HALVES IS RED OR BLACK.  
CG: THE OTHER SET OF HALVES IS CONCUPISCENT OR CONCILIATORY  
CG: THERE'S A RED CONCUPISCENT QUADRANT AND A RED CONCILIATORY QUADRANT AND VICE VERSA AND SWAP THEM ALL AROUND, YOU GET THE IDEA  
CG: RED MEANS... WELL, POSITIVE EMOTIONS, I GUESS  
CG: AT LEAST NOT TRYING TO KILL ONE ANOTHER  
CG: WHICH IS KIND OF LIKE WHAT ALTERNIAN CULTURE WAS LIKE AS A DEFAULT  
CG: BLACK IS NEGATIVE, BUT NOT REALLY NEGATIVE, JUST... NOT RED  
CG: WHATEVER  
CG: MOVING ON  
CG: CONCUPISCENT IS...  
EB: is...?  
CG: MATING  
CG: THOSE ARE THE MATING QUADRANTS.  
EB: oh my god don't call it that.  
CG: CALL IT WHAT  
CG: THE ACTUAL CLINICAL TERM FOR IT?  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF WORD AM I SUPPOSED TO USE  
CG: Y'ALL GON' BE FUCKIN'?  
CG: IS THAT COLLOQUIAL ENOUGH FOR YOU?  
EB: you spend way too much time around my roommate.  
CG: AGREED.  
CG: MOVING ON  
CG: THE OTHER ONES ARE CONCILIATORY  
CG: KIND OF LIKE YOUR HUMAN FRIENDSHIP DISEASE BUT IT'S A ROMANTIC THING  
CG: NOW THAT YOU HAVE THE ABSOLUTE BASICS THAT EVERYONE WITH TWO THINKPAN NOODLES KNOWS, LET'S MOVE THE FUCK ON FROM THIS BORING SHIT AND GET INTO SOME EVEN MORE BORING SHIT  
CG: <3  
CG: PITY.  
EB: ... love.  
CG: PITY, MOTHERFUCKER  
CG: KIND OF LIKE THE HUMAN THING, BUT NOT QUITE  
CG: IF YOU HEAR ME USING THE WORDS REDROM OR FLUSHED ROMANCE, IT'S THE SAME FUCKING THING, SO DON'T FLIP A BITCH  
CG: PITY IS KIND OF A SHORTHAND FOR FEELING BAD THAT SOMEONE'S SUCH A MEWLING QUIM AND WORKING TO MAKE THEM A BETTER PERSON BY BEING IN A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP WITH THEM.  
EB: did you just call me a whiny cunt?  
CG: GET THIS DOUCHE A MEDAL.  
CG: YOU JUST WON A GOLD IN THE FUCKSHIT OLYMPICS.  
EB: i will wear it with pride.  
CG: THAT'S THE EASIEST ONE.  
CG: IF YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THE CLOSEST THING TO HUMAN ROMANCE WE REALLY HAVE  
CG: I'M SORRY TO INFORM YOU THAT YOU MAY IN FACT ACTUALLY BE MENTALLY RETARDED.  
EB: trust me, i get it.  
EB: now dazzle me.  
CG: NOW THAT YOU HAVE THAT BORING SHIT CAKED UP TO YOUR KNEES FROM WADING THROUGH IT, LET'S MOVE ON  
CG: <3<  
CG: HATE  
CG: WELL, THAT'S THE CLOSEST TRANSLATION I CAN FIND, ANYWAY  
CG: IT'S MORE LIKE RESENTMENT AND BEGRUDGING ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF TALENT THAN ANYTHING ELSE  
CG: BASICALLY, YOU'VE LOCKED HORNS WITH SOMEONE ON SO MUCH AND DEVELOPED SUCH A RIVALRY WITH THEM THAT IT SPURS YOU TO BE A BETTER PERSON  
CG: IF ONLY TO FINALLY BEAT THEM AT THEIR OWN FUCKING JUVENILE BULLSHIT GAMES  
CG: IT'S KIND OF LIKE  
CG: I'M TRYING TO FIND AN ILLUSTRATION THAT EVEN YOU COULD UNDERSTAND  
CG: DOING THIS FOR YOU IS LIKE TEACHING A CHOLERBEAR ALTERNIAN  
CG: THERE'S NO POINT AND YOU'RE GOING TO MAUL YOUR THINKPAN TRYING  
CG: OKAY, I THINK I HAVE AN EXAMPLE  
CG: THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THE DIRK HUMAN AND THE JAKE HUMAN.  
EB: they're not in a relationship.  
EB: they broke up in high school.  
CG: SEE, THIS IS WHERE YOU'RE WRONG.  
CG: TO TROLL EYES THEY'RE PRACTICALLY PISSING THEMSELVES IN THEIR EAGERNESS TO HATE EACH OTHER.  
CG: THEY'RE VERY COMPETITIVE AND EXCEPTIONALLY VIOLENT  
CG: AT LEAST AS FAR AS HUMAN APEBEASTS ARE CONCERNED  
CG: AND THEIR SEXUAL ATTRACTION ISN'T BASED ON AFFECTION SO MUCH AS OBLITERATION.  
EB: where are you even getting this?  
CG: IT'S PAINFULLY OBVIOUS  
CG: EVEN TO THE ESPECIALLY MORONIC.  
CG: (THAT WOULD BE YOU. YOU ARE THE MORON.)  
EB: okay, but.  
EB: dirk and jake have never tried to kill each other.  
EB: in troll culture, if you hate someone, wouldn't you be, you know.  
EB: trying to kill them?  
CG: THAT'S RIGHT, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN  
CG: HE CAN BE TAUGHT  
CG: WE'RE ONLY HALFWAY UP BULLSHIT MOUNTAIN THOUGH  
CG: THIS IS FUCKING BASE CAMP  
CG: WE'RE ONLY AT 17 THOUSAND FEET HERE  
CG: YOU GET A LITTLE BIT OF A BREATHER HERE  
CG: LET YOU ACCLIMATE TO THE ALTITUDE WITHOUT PUKING ALL OVER YOURSELF AND PASSING OUT FROM THE CULTURAL SPLENDOR AROUND YOU  
CG: BUT LET'S FACE IT  
CG: THAT WAS THE EASY SHIT  
CG: NOW I HAVE TO BE YOUR FUCKING SHERPA FOR THE REST OF THE TREK UP BULLSHIT MOUNTAIN  
CG: PUT ON A PARKA, MOTHERFUCKER  
CG: BECAUSE SHIT'S ABOUT TO GET REAL COLD REAL FAST.  
EB: oh my god, you're even worse than dave sometimes.  
EB: just get to your point or i'm blocking you.  
EB: i shouldn't even be on my phone.  
CG: FINE, SINCE YOU DON'T WANT TO TAKE TIME TO APPRECIATE THE MAJESTY OF BULLSHIT MOUNTAIN FOR YOURSELF  
CG: c3<  
CG: THIS IS THE BLACK CONCILIATORY ONE  
CG: ASHEN ROMANCE  
CG: EARLIER YOU WERE ALL  
CG: BUT OH WISE AND ALL POWERFUL KARKAT, HOW DO TROLLS EVEN FUNCTION WITHOUT KILLING EACH OTHER ON AN HOURLY BASIS?  
CG: AND THE ANSWER IS WE DON'T  
CG: BUT THIS QUADRANT HELPS  
CG: SEE, IF YOU HAVE A HATRED SO PURE IT ENDS IN THE EQUIVALENT OF EMOTIONAL THERMONUCLEAR WAR  
CG: IT'S SOMEONE'S JOB TO COME IN AND PUT UP A BUFFER ZONE  
EB: so they have to be there while the two people on a hate date have sex to keep them from strangling each other in bed?  
EB: kinky.  
CG: NO  
CG: DEAR GOD NO  
CG: OBVIOUSLY I'M GOING TO HAVE TO SCHEDULE YOU TO GET YOUR AURICULAR SPONGE CLOTS AND YOUR GANDERBULBS EXAMINED BY YOUR MALPRACTITIONER  
CG: THAT OR GIVE YOU AN IMPROMPTU BUT TOTALLY CALLED FOR PREFRONTAL LOBOTOMY SO YOU CAN ACTUALLY PAY AFUCKINGTTENTION TO ME  
CG: CONCILIATORY MEANS NOT CONCUPISCENT  
CG: THERE'S NO MATING  
CG: (UNLESS YOU'RE CONCILIATORY-SEXUAL, WHICH, LET'S FACE IT, IS WEIRD AND ALSO STUPID)  
CG: BASICALLY IF YOU'RE GETTING INTO SOMEONE ELSE'S BLACKROM LIKE THAT, YOU'RE TRYING TO KEEP IT FUNCTIONING  
CG: BECAUSE YOU'RE RIGHT  
CG: YOU CAN GO NARY A BREATH ON A TROLL PLANET WITHOUT INFUSING YOUR ATMOSPHERE ASPIRATORS WITH SOME OF THE BLACKEST KINDS OF HATE OUR GALAXY CAN PRODUCE.  
EB: atmosphere aspirators?  
CG: THAT'S WHAT YOU GOT OUT OF THAT???  
CG: NO, YOU KNOW WHAT, I HAVE THE SOLUTION.  
CG  banned  EB from responding to chat.  
CG: AH, YES, THAT DOES FEEL MUCH BETTER.  
EB  unbanned  EB from responding to chat.  
EB: i have admin privileges here too!  
EB: hehehehehehehehe.  
CG: WILL YOU JUST  
CG: FUCKING  
CG: SHUT  
CG: UP  
EB: no, trust me, i'm shutting up, okay, look.  
EB: i'm going to be quiet and you're going to finish your explanation and i'm going to pretend like i haven't wasted the last three hours of my life.  
EB: go.  
CG: YES, TROLLS HATE EACH OTHER  
CG: JUST AS MUCH AS I FUCKING ABHOR YOU RIGHT NOW.  
EB: aww, karkat, that's so sweet!  
CG: PLATONICALLY, YOU WINDSOCK HEADED SHITMOUTH.  
CG: WHICH WAS GOING TO BE MY POINT, ACTUALLY  
CG: WITHOUT A SYSTEM IN PLACE TO MAKE SURE PEOPLE WOULD ACTUALLY STAY IN THEIR GODDAMN QUADRANTS  
CG: AND NOT GO AROUND PAILING EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TROLL THEY HATED  
CG: THE ENTIRE QUADRANT STRUCTURE WOULD FALL APART  
CG: SO WE HAVE THIS SYSTEM OF ACCOUNTABILITY  
CG: TO MAKE SURE YOU STAY FAITHFUL TO YOUR HATE MATE  
CG: AND TO MAKE SURE THAT RELATIONSHIP STAYS AS TIGHT AS POSSIBLE  
CG: BUT WITHOUT IT GETTING SO PASSIONATE THAT YOU KILL EACH OTHER  
CG: IT'S A THANKLESS JOB AND I DON'T KNOW WHY I GET STUCK WITH IT MORE OFTEN THAN NOT  
CG: BUT ANYWAY  
CG: THAT PROBABLY DOESN'T SOUND PARTICULARLY ROMANTIC TO YOU  
CG: CONSIDERING THE HUMAN THINKPAN IS ONLY SOFUCKSTICKATED ENOUGH TO UNDERSTAND ONE OF OUR QUADRANTS  
CG: BUT IT IS A FORM OF ROMANCE  
CG: SO YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT IT.  
EB: i'm going to regret this but.  
EB: i have a question.  
CG: FRANKLY, GIVEN YOUR CULTURAL ILLITERACY, I ENCOURAGE YOU TO ASK AS MANY FUCKING QUESTIONS AS YOU CAN FIRE THROUGH YOUR CRANIAL NOODLES.  
EB: so this... this whole ashen thing.  
EB: it's supposed to keep people together who might have some differences in background from each other.  
CG: I'M NOT SEEING A SURPRISE NOODLE ANYWHERE IN THERE.  
EB: well, it might sound kind of dumb.  
CG: NOT MUCH OF A CHANGE.  
EB: this whole trolls being in romances with humans thing is kind of new.  
EB: and really goddamn confusing for humans.  
CG: NOT TO MENTION ENDLESSLY FRUSTRATING FOR TROLLS.  
EB: so wouldn't those troll human relationships need someone ashen no matter what?  
EB: even if they were in that <3 quadrant?  
CG: OKAY, NOW YOU'RE JUST MAKING SHIT UP.  
CG: THERE ARE ONLY FOUR QUADRANTS  
CG: THUS THE WORD QUADRANT  
CG: YOU CAN'T JUST INVENT AN ENTIRELY NEW CONCILIATORY ROMANCE FOR TROLL ON HUMAN REDROM  
EB: i thought that was what you were doing when you were giving me advice on friday.  
CG: THAT'S ALL THAT WAS  
CG: ADVICE  
CG: I AM NOT IN A ROMANTIC RELATIONSHIP WITH YOU, EGBERT HUMAN JOHN  
CG: SO DON'T FUCKING FLATTER YOURSELF.  
EB: not even that other one?  
CG: WHY MUST YOU REMIND ME THAT WE'RE NOT EVEN DONE.  
CG: WE ARE SO CLOSE TO THE SUMMIT OF MOUNT BULLSHIT  
CG: WE'VE BEEN SLOSHING AROUND IN HOOFBEAST FECAL MATTER FOR SO LONG THAT IT'S NOW CAKED UP TO OUR ELBOWS  
CG: WE ARE NOW IN THE LAST HURDLE OF OUR JOURNEY BEFORE I CAN HURL MYSELF FROM THE TOP AND HOPEFULLY DIE FROM AN ANEURYSM FROM SCREAMING SO HARD I BURST A BLOOD FROND BEFORE I HIT THE BOTTOM SLOPES.  
EB: stop being so histrionic and just get it over with already.  
CG: UGH, FINE.  
CG: <>  
CG: THE CONCILIATORY QUADRANT FOR REDROM  
CG: NOT THE SAME KIND OF CONCILIATORY AS THE KISS AND MAKE UP OF ASHEN ROMANCE  
CG: THIS IS PALE ROMANCE  
CG: APPARENTLY I CANNOT STATE ENOUGH THAT TROLL CULTURE IS ANGRY AND VIOLENT  
CG: BECAUSE THAT'S AN ASSUMPTION MADE HERE TOO  
CG: THAT SOME TROLLS LEFT TO THEIR OWN DEVICES WOULD PROBABLY TRY TO SET THE ENTIRE PLANET ON FIRE OR SOMETHING IN A FIT OF SELF MASTURBATORY GLEE  
CG: PALEROM IS DESIGNED SO PEOPLE DON'T DO THAT THING  
CG: IT'S TWO PEOPLE WITH DIFFERENT EMOTIONAL PROFILES THAT STILL COMPLEMENT EACH OTHER WELL  
CG: A BETTER HALF CONCEPT, I GUESS  
CG: YOU KEEP THE OTHER PERSON FROM SLAUGHTERING EVERYTHING IN SIGHT  
CG: BUT THEY BALANCE YOU OUT TOO.  
EB: so basically like super special best friends.  
CG: NO.  
CG: NO NO NO NO NO.  
CG: FRIENDSHIP IS A HUMAN DISEASE.  
CG: THIS IS A TROLL ROMANCE.  
EB: so that's all four quadrants, right?  
EB: assuming my math is right, and it is.  
CG: CONGRATULATIONS.  
CG: YOU CAN COUNT TO FOUR.  
CG: YOU ADDLEPANNED BLACK HOLE OF INTELLECTUAL COMPROMISE, YOU.  
CG: BUT BEFORE WE CAN PLANT THE FLAG OF CONQUEST AT THE TOP OF MOUNT BULLSHIT, THERE IS ONE FINAL ASCENT TO MAKE  
CG: AND THAT IS THE CONCEPT OF SERENDIPITY.  
EB: i'm pretty sure humans have that concept too.  
EB: that whole one true love thing.  
EB: probably a load of crap, but a lot of people believe in it.  
CG: I AM ACTUALLY ASTOUNDED.  
CG: MY GHAST HAS BEEN THOROUGHLY FLABBERED.  
CG: SOMETHING I TRIED TO ENGINEER INTO YOUR UNIVERSE ACTUALLY MANAGED TO IMPRINT ITSELF ON YOUR SAVAGE, UNCULTURED EXCUSE FOR A SOCIETY.  
EB: which is?  
CG: THERE'S A CULTURAL MYTH THAT YOUR PAIRS IN THESE QUADRANTS ARE WRITTEN IN THE STARS.  
EB: you made the stars here.  
CG: SO WHOEVER YOUR MOIRAIL IS, OR YOUR MATESPRITE, OR YOUR KISMESIS, OR THE PERSON WHO'S MEANT TO AUSPISTICE FOR YOU, IT'S ALL THERE.  
CG: ALREADY SPELLED OUT AND AWAITING YOU AS YOUR DESTINY.  
EB: that would mean a lot more to me if i actually knew what any of those made up words actually meant.  
CG: WHAT, MOIRAIL?  
CG: ... OH MY THROBBING PHLEGM LOBE, PAST ME IS A FUCKING IDIOT.  
CG: QUITE POSSIBLY THE STUPIDEST PILE OF PUKE I EVER GRACED WITH MY BEING.  
CG: HERE'S A QUICK VOCABULARY LESSON TO TIE IT ALL TOGETHER.  
CG: ASSUMING YOU CAN ACTUALLY HOLD TWO THOUGHTS IN YOUR HEAD AT ONCE.  
CG: PEOPLE TOGETHER IN A REDROM ARE MATESPRITS  
CG: REDROM IS MATESPRITSHIP  
CG: ASSUMING DIVINE FORETELLINGS HERE, WHICH FOR THE MOMENT I AM  
CG: BECAUSE IF WE'RE HONEST HERE, EITHER YOU BREAK UP OR YOU JUST STAY IN THAT QUADRANT FOREVER  
CG: AND WHILE YOU'RE ACTUALLY IN THAT RELATIONSHIP YOU DON'T KNOW HOW IT'S GOING TO END UP  
CG: IT'S LIKE A SHRÖDINGER'S MEOWBEAST OF POTENTIAL ROMANTIC DISASTER UP IN THIS BITCH  
CG: WHAT A MATESPRIT IS TO REDROM, A KISMESIS IS TO BLACKROM  
CG: THAT BLACKROM, THAT CALIGINOUS RELATIONSHIP, IS CALLED A KISMESSITUDE  
CG: THE PERSON IN THAT KISMESIS'S ASHEN QUADRANT IS THEIR AUSPISTICE  
CG: WHAT YOU DO IS AUSPISTICIZE  
CG: YOU'RE AUSPISTICING BETWEEN A KISMESSITUDE  
CG: AND THE CONCEPT IS AUSPISTICISM  
CG: BEING IN A PALE ROMANCE WITH SOMEONE MEANS YOU'RE THEIR MOIRAIL  
CG: IT'S CALLED A MOIRALLEGIANCE  
CG: GOT IT?  
EB: i think.  
CG: CONGRATULATIONS.  
CG: NOW TAKE THIS FLAG AND PLANT IT AT THE SUMMIT OF MOUNT BULLSHIT TO COMMEMORATE YOUR PRESENCE HERE  
CG: TAKE A LOOK AROUND AT THE BULLSHIT MOUNTAIN RANGE  
CG: YOU WILL HAVE TO SUMMIT THE REST OF THESE PEAKS LATER  
CG: BUT RIGHT NOW, IT FEELS LIKE A SPLEENFOWL HAS LOVINGLY ENCAPSULATED MY SKULL IN ITS BEAK  
CG: SO FOR THE MOMENT, TENSING VANTAS IS GOING TO TAKE A LITTLE BREAK.  
EB: thanks for explaining!  
CG: DID YOU JUST EXPRESS GRATITUDE?  
CG: I THINK I MIGHT ACTUALLY PASS OUT.  
EB: before you do, i actually have one last question.  
CG: I CANNOT CATCH A FUCKING BREAK.  
EB: i told you dave kissed me last night.  
EB: you told me you didn't see a big deal.  
EB: why the hell not?  
CG: WELL, YOU'RE MOIRAILS.  
EB: ... i don't think so.  
CG: OH, PLEASE.  
CG: YOU'RE AS PALE FOR EACH OTHER AS THE NIGHT IS LONG.  
EB: yeah, but here's the thing.  
EB: i don't know if you noticed, but he and i aren't trolls.  
CG: TRUST ME, I'VE NOTICED.  
CG: THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT ANY LESS TRUE.  
EB: okay, fine.  
EB: assuming that we're moirails, which we're not, why isn't it a bad thing that he kissed me?  
EB: that's not a mating quadrant.  
CG: BUT IT IS STILL ROMANTIC.  
CG: KISSES ARE ROMANTIC.  
CG: DO YOU SEE WHERE I'M GOING WITH THIS?  
EB: actually, yeah.  
EB: there goes a weight from my shoulders.  
CG: DID YOU REALLY THINK THAT WAS A BAD THING?  
EB: well, yeah.  
EB: i would have been cheating on sollux.  
CG: I DON'T UNDERSTAND.  
EB: it's that whole humans only have one type of romance thing.  
CG: AND YOU CAN ONLY HAVE ONE PERSON IN THAT TYPE OF ROMANCE AT A TIME?  
EB: well, that's how most people do it!  
EB: unless you're mormon, but we're not in utah.  
CG: YOUR CULTURE IS SO BACK-ASSWARDS I DON'T KNOW WHERE TO START FIXING IT.  
CG: JADE DOESN'T SEEM TO HAVE A PROBLEM BEING A POLYAMOROUS MONOQUADRANT NOMAD.  
EB: like i said, that's not how most people do it.  
EB: and unless you actually try to override the default by saying it's okay to do that, it's cheating to do romantic things with more than one person, let alone sex stuff.  
CG: THAT'S STUPID  
CG: STUPID AND ALSO DUMB  
CG: KISSES ARE JUST AS CONCILIATORY AS THEY ARE CONCUPISCENT  
CG: AND JUST AS PLATONIC AS THEY ARE ROMANTIC  
CG: SO EVEN IF MY ROOMMATE FINDS THOSE PICTURES  
CG: HE'S PROBABLY JUST GOING TO SHRUG IT OFF AS NO BIG DEAL.  
CG: JUST LIKE I AM.  
EB: thank god.  
EB: i mean, i still feel bad, but this whole troll thing is new to me.  
EB: i guess i'll get used to it soon enough!  
CG: THAT'S THE SPIRIT.  
CG: NOW IF YOU'LL EXCUSE ME, I HAVE TO RUN TO THE LOAD GAPER TO VOMIT FROM YOUR EXCESSIVE CHEERFULNESS.  
EB: are you sure you're not just hungover?  
CG: IMPOSSIBLE.  
CG: I DEFINITELY DIDN'T WAKE UP STILL FEELING DRUNK OR ANYTHING.  
EB: keep telling yourself that.  
EB: i have to go because my dad's actually trying to talk to me.  
EB: feel better soon!  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering carcinoGeneticist  [CG] at 19:48 --

\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] began trolling tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 16:36 --  
CG: CULL ME  
CG: PLEASE CULL ME  
CG: USE THOSE FREAKISH TENTACLE GOD NEEDLES OF YOURS AND FUCK MY SKULL OPEN WITH THEM UNTIL I DROWN IN MY OWN THINKPAN FLUID  
CG: STRANGLE ME WITH YOUR FUCKING SCARF WHILE I SING THE NATIONAL GODDAMN ANTHEM  
TT: Hello, Karkat.  
CG: HI ROSE.  
TT: Trying to explain something to John?  
CG: HOW DID YOU KNOW.  
TT: Only he can elicit such a specifically high level of exasperation from his tutors.  
TT: The obliviousness is part of his charm.  
CG: WHAT CHARM?  
CG: HE HAS THE "CHARM" OF A BARELY-SENTIENT BIVALVE THAT SPENDS ITS DAYS SWIMMING IN ITS OWN SHIT WHOSE SOLE PURPOSE IN ITS MISERABLY SHORT LIFE IS TO FRUSTRATE ME BEYOND THE FUCKIEST OF YOUS.  
TT: Oh, dear.  
TT: It's almost as if you hate him.  
CG: YEAH RIGHT  
CG: I HAVE ENOUGH BLACK ON MY NUTRITION PLATEAU AS IT IS WITHOUT HAVING TO DEAL WITH HIS IDIOTIC BULLSHIT  
CG: HE WON'T EVEN TELL ME WHAT EARTH CULTURE HE'S FROM  
CG: WHAT KIND OF A PALHONCHO IS THAT?  
TT: One who prefers his privacy.  
CG: DO YOU KNOW?  
TT: Know what?  
CG: THE NAME OF HIS TRIBE.  
TT: Even if I did, it's of less than no consequence to you.  
TT: If John's decided not to tell you, it's because he doesn't want you to know.  
CG: GREAT  
CG: JUST FUCKING GREAT  
CG: WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE KIND OF PALE DUDEBROS AND HE WON'T EVEN TELL ME SHIT ABOUT HIMSELF.  
TT: I'm very sorry.  
TT: Do you need me for emotional support while you fill your filial pail with tears?  
CG: I WOULD RATHER FIST OPEN MY OWN WASTE CHUTE.  
CG: WHICH IS WHAT THIS CONVERSATION WITH JOHN FEELS LIKE.  
TT: Again, I express my deepest sympathy.  
TT: Although I do have to say I'm somewhat glad.  
CG: WHY?  
TT: So long as he's asking you for advice, he's not asking me.  
CG: FUCK YOU, ROSE HUMAN.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] ceased trolling tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 16:57 --

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 17:00 --  
EB: hey rose!  
TT: Hello, John.  
EB: do you ever get into a conversation with someone and regret everything?  
TT: Constantly.  
EB: sorry if this one is doing that to you right now.  
TT: The fact that you're apologizing means that this conversation isn't too far gone.  
EB: good.  
EB: can you do me a favor?  
EB: if karkat messages you today asking the name of my tribe, can you not tell him?  
TT: What makes you think he would message me?  
EB: i know he's already tried dave and jade.  
TT: And whatever could possibly be so embarrassing about the Nooksack peoples that you wouldn't want Karkat to know?  
EB: it's not embarrassing!  
EB: not that i'm, you know, native american or anything.  
EB: it's just... the name.  
TT: I fail to understand what could be particularly mortifying about potentially having another language's innuendo in the moniker of your Nation.  
EB: just a hint: it's the innuendo thing.  
EB: i'd rather be spared some awkward conversations just about that nook thing.  
EB: i don't want to know.  
EB: more importantly, i don't want karkat to have to explain it to me.  
EB: he just explained troll romance to me and i feel like my brain is leaking out of my ears.  
EB: i really don't want to get into troll anatomy with him today, if ever.  
TT: Haven't you been starting a relationship with a troll?  
EB: well, yeah, but.  
EB: ... we'll get to that when we get to it.  
TT: I ought not to be bothering you if you have things to do with your father.  
EB: i'm glad you get it.  
EB: i'll catch up with you when i get back to campus!  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering tentacleTherapist  [TT] at 17:15 --

\-- apocalypseArisen  [AA] began trolling turntechGodhead  [TG] at 18:08 --  
AA: s0 i heard y0u died last night  
AA: is that true?  
TG: go away  
AA: tell me  
TG: no  
AA: c0me 0n  
AA: c0me 0n c0me 0n c0me 0n c0me 0n c0me 0n  
AA: 0n0  
TG: damn it megido  
TG: dont do the googoo eyes at me  
AA: 0n0  
AA: 0n0  
AA: 0n0  
AA: 0n0  
AA: 0n0  
TG: jesus wept  
TG: yes  
TG: its true  
AA: d0es that mean  
AA: we get t0 have  
AA: a really awes0me  
TG: dont say it  
AA: C0RPSE PARTY???????? 0u0  
TG: you said it  
AA: ill start getting things t0gether  
TG: before you start doing that  
TG: i have a better idea  
AA: im listening  
TG: dont  
AA: i cant believe y0u w0nt let me d0 this  
AA: remember h0w much fun we had last time  
TG: yeah  
TG: but heres the thing  
AA: 0h n0  
AA: n0t the thing -0-  
TG: i dont really want anyone to know  
TG: not this time  
TG: im not saying i dont like speed metal feelings jams of the dead kids krew  
TG: just  
TG: not this time  
AA: 0kay 0n0  
AA: why n0t th0ugh?  
TG: captor  
AA: ...  
AA: im g0ing t0 need m0re c0ntext  
TG: follow my logic here  
TG: party means dead kids krew  
TG: corpse means resetting the days since last death sign  
TG: corpse party means dead kids krew knows i died  
TG: if dead kids krew knows captor knows  
TG: captors got his tongue down my roommates throat  
TG: so if captor knows my roommate knows  
TG: and if he knows he might kill me  
TG: not that big a deal but if im gonna die i want it to be on my own terms  
AA: why w0uld he kill y0u th0ugh  
TG: its like you dont even know him  
TG: this guy worries like a fucking lusus okay  
TG: i dont need him dithering over me  
TG: i love him but jesus dicks man  
AA: im sure he wants y0u t0 be healthy  
AA: thats what m0irails do  
AA: take care 0f each 0ther  
TG: yeah well theres a problem with that analysis radia  
TG: we aint trolls yo  
TG: except for his concern trolling  
AA: s0 n0 c0rpse party?  
TG: sorry  
AA: 0n0  
AA: i guess its 0kay  
AA: well just have t0 party twice as hard the next time 0ne 0f us dies  
TG: hell yeah  
TG: but in the meantime  
TG: kinda gotta regen here  
TG: it aint pretty  
AA: ill send fl0wers  
TG: you do that  
AA: get well s00n  
\-- apocalypseArisen  [AA] ceased trolling turntechGodhead  [TG] at 18:55 --

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering adiosToreador  [AT] at 19:08 --  
TG: hey  
AT: hI,  
AT: sO, uH,,,  
AT: wHAT'S UP,  
TG: that sicknasty shit you spun last night  
TG: that was fucking inspired  
TG: where the hell did that come from  
AT: sURRENDER ACCEPTED, sTRIDER,  
TG: fuck you nitram  
AT: wITH PLEASURE,  
TG: same time next week then  
AT: uM, dUH,  
AT: sERIOUSLY THOUGH, nICE JOB,  
TG: i thought so too  
TG: see you then  
\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] ceased pestering adiosToreador  [AT] at 19:14 --


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beej incoming

Dave hates taking sick days.

This isn’t even a sick day. This is a “you died yesterday and you’ll kill yourself again if you’re not careful” day. And he’s fucking miserable. He can feel time slipping past him, wasting, with every tick of the gears still in his mind. His head itself is fit to split. Falling didn’t help—his joints are aching, but at the same time they feel too loose, almost like he hasn’t been strung together quite right.

At least he woke up in his own bed. John must have brought him back home. And he went all-out, too, tucking him in carefully like he was wrapping a present, leaving him water and protein bars on his bedside table, keeping the trash can close to his bedframe so he could pull it out if he needed to upchuck. Yeah, John tends to go full-on dad in a crisis, but it’s… comforting, in a way. Dave was never babied like this as a kid.

Not that he’ll admit to being babied now. All he wants is for someone to spoon-feed him chicken noodle soup, but if there’s one thing Striders are known for, it’s their stubbornness, their inability to admit when there’s a serious problem. He’ll get over it. Some Gatorade, a few pukes, a little mac and cheese, and he’ll be right as rain—certainly by Tuesday, the next time he has a serious class.

Still, John isn’t here. Usually he’s back by this time on Sundays, and even if he’s just doing homework, it’s nice to kinda… have him around. When Dave rolls over, his entire body lights up with pain in protest, but when his nose lands on the other side of the pillow, he breathes in the smell of John’s hair and even that dumb acne shit he uses that he thinks other people don’t know about. That idiot’s been sleeping in Dave’s bed more than his own this week, and Dave really ought to tell him to cut it out. John’s like a personal space heater, though, and growing up in Houston, Dave kinda needs warmth to sleep.

It feels cold in here. Maybe that’s because he was a corpse just a few hours ago. He doesn’t want to move to get out of bed, but some layers would be nice. The closest thing he can find is a green sweatshirt that was laying on the floor between his and John’s beds. A quick sniff test shows it’s fit to be worn—at least, until it stands up on its own, as his bro might say. Getting into it is a challenge when Dave’s everything doesn’t want to move, but with a minimum of pained grunting he manages to get it over his head and burrow back under his blankets to make himself into a bed burrito.

One problem: This isn’t his sweatshirt.

It’s John’s. Dave knows this, first off, because John is the pansy who uses fabric softener and not just dryer sheets. It’s in the softness, not just the scent. Not just that, but it doesn’t fit Dave like he would have preferred. John likes his sweatshirts a size too big, which for a normal person means tent-like, so Dave’s practically swimming in this thing. This thing that smells like Washington pines and mountain air and the hint of forest fires when he draws the hood over his head and buries his nose in the neckline.

It’s like John’s here, even when he’s not here. God, he’s being such a goddamn pissbaby about regenning this time around, but it’s a pain in the ass, and it’s nice to have something soothe him through it. And it’s like he’s—whoa. That’s a thought. It’s like he’s actually inside John, wrapped in the things that make John who he is, and it’s intimate and comforting and Dave doesn’t ever want to leave.

He draws the strings, pulls the hoodie tight around his face, and it blocks out enough light that he can sleep as long as he wants.

\--

On Tuesday, Karkat’s had enough of Dave being a fuckcrumpet. And he lasted four whole days from the last time he was fed up with this asshead. He’s going to get this douchelord a meal, whether he wants it or not. Even though Karkat knows there’s technically no food allowed in Strider Hall, if he doesn’t make it in there with some sustenance, Dave is like to starve himself to death.

Of course, when Karkat goes straight to the carrel-cum-recording room that Dave has on permanent reserve, Dave’s already got half a sandwich hanging from his mouth, half-eaten and forgotten as he fiddles with the amplifier on the hi-hat of this track. Karkat yanks the thing out, puts it down on a nutritional plateau, and pushes Dave’s headphones off his head. “Do you know what time it is?”

Dave looks at him like he’s stupid. “I always know what time it is.”

“Do you _care_ what time it is?” Karkat changes his question. “Eat. Or I swear to your puny human god, who is actually me, that I will cram it down your ignorance shaft until you puke it over my fist.” Next to the soggy sandwich, he sets down a single-serve of Lays, chocolate milk, and a brownie. Not like he actually made those brownies himself or anything. No, they’ll just go unappreciated, like everything else.

“Hot.” Still, Dave actually closes his laptop, picks his sandwich back up, and dutifully chews a bite of it. “Scho,” he says with his mouth full, “any schpeschial reaschon f’r y’r li’l vischit?”

“No. Don’t do that. It’s disgusting. You’re disgusting.” Just one more thing to loathe about this guy. (But if Karkat hates him, why is he taking pity on him and bringing him dinner?)

Dave just smiles, deliberately taking another bite before speaking this time. “’N yet ya schtill c’m t’ vischit me like thisch.”

“Chew,” Karkat orders him, actually physically putting his hand over Dave’s mouth so the human will focus on only one thing at a time. “Now swallow. And now you can talk again.”

“I’m kinda busy,” Dave says, pointing to his now-closed computer.

“You’re always busy,” Karkat counters. “That project is still going to be there tomorrow. And the next day. And the next day. But you got a troll here with a chest full of hatred, a mouth full of yelling, and a repressed libido full of go fuck yourself, so get your shit out of the goddamn way and just fucking—“

Dave reaches up, gets him by the collar of the shirt, and yanks Karkat down onto his lap so he can kiss him. Remarkably, he doesn’t taste like white bread. “You were saying?” he asks, nothing more than the hint of a breath against Karkat’s lips.

“You weren’t saying anything, you were shutting up and doing that again,” Karkat mutters, pushing his hands under Dave’s green sweatshirt to get at the heat of his skin.

Kissing turns into nipping. Outright biting. Neither of them quite know what to do with their hands, so much to manhandle at once, so few nubs to scratch and grip and ghost with. This. This is more like Karkat’s used to, rushed and frantic like they’re running out of time, and Dave’s hungry for more than just food, it seems, when he starts undoing the button of Karkat’s jeans.

“No.” Karkat pushes his hands away, gray on palest pink, and for a moment, Dave’s lips fall open like he’s about to protest. Instead of letting him say words, though, Karkat presses insistent kisses against his slack mouth. Sucks Dave’s lower lip between his teeth, which he knows the human loves, and soothes over the blooming bite mark with his tongue. Takes that tongue, trails it along his jawline, the nearly-invisible two-day blond scruff, and feels out the pulse right above Dave’s adam’s apple.

Dave is blissfully silent, barely daring to breathe, as Karkat pushes up his shirt, falls out of his lap and onto the floor, presses the flat of his teeth to the soft skin of his belly. And then it’s his belt, the button of his jeans, and Dave looks so close to saying something but just takes his sweatshirt off instead, his tee-shirt riding up on his stomach. “Fuck, you’re not seriously—“

Except Karkat is, seriously. His tongue comes out—longer, more prehensile than a human’s, with a more noticeable point to it—and wraps around that weird human bulge of his, and whatever else Dave was about to say gets swallowed down, literally crammed back into his mouth when his palm claps over it. “You were saying?” Karkat mocks him, throwing his own words back in his face.

“Oh, god,” is panted out between his fingers, “oh, fuck, watch the fucking teeth—“ almost too late, as Karkat has his entire mouth around the stupid thing, sinking down until it’s in his throat and holding it there and swallowing.

All Karkat does to that is look up at him, a glare that clearly communicates ‘are you fucking serious right now.’ He knows this is part of what gets Strider off, the threat, the hint, the hidden violence, even if he keeps his mouth soft and his tongue slick. There are so many little things to notice. The flavor of human skin, the bitterness of his genetic lubrication. Dave’s twitching when he adds more pressure with his lips, curling them around his teeth. The way his hands are white-knuckled when he reaches behind him to grab at the desk for misguided emotional support.

Karkat sucks. Hums. And Dave erupts into a font of useless sounds. “Holy fucking shit—ah, ahn, right, right there, ohfuck _youhadit_ goback, you fucking asshole I’mgonna _fuck_ your _throat_ oh god oh god oh ohhhhh ohhhhhh _hhhhhhhh_ fuhuhuhuhuhuck…” Karkat’s never been quite so glad these rooms are soundproof, because Dave is absolutely shameless when he’s getting head, or whatever loathsome name he calls this particular exercise. He lasts for maybe another thirty seconds before his hips jerk roughly forward and his mouth forms a rough shape around the words “gonna come,” and Karkat willingly opens his throat and holds him there as he spasms.

Dave’s still gasping for air like a seadweller grub’s first time on land when Karkat pulls off. And he says Karkat has the sensitive bulge. Yeah, right. “Do you ever fucking shut up?”

“Holy shit, how do you _not_ sound like you just gobbled my knob.” Dave’s a mess, pants pooled around his knees, skin flushed a delicate pink, chest heaving. “Is it the hoarse thing? You could probably deepthroat a dozen dicks and still sound like yourself. That is a gift, my friend. Cherish it.”

Karkat rolls his eyes. “Eat,” is his final admonishment. He should probably take that advice himself—genetic material is not a meal. He leaves Dave there as he is. He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself (or not). It’s going to be cold when he leaves, though, so he takes Dave’s sweatshirt off the floor, jams it over his head, and walks out with it.

One problem: This isn’t Dave’s sweatshirt.

He’s swimming in it, moreso than with the clothes he usually borrows from Dave. But what really tips him off is the smell. Not like he’s the creep who likes the smell of Dave on his clothes. Nope. No way. Totally doesn’t fist his bulge with his nose buried in one of Strider’s discarded shirts. But this isn’t… quite Dave. Dave’s here, yeah, in the sugared-strawberry of his ironic little-girls Disney Princess shampoo lingering on the inside of the hood, in the burnt vinyl at the edge of the cuffs, something charcoal even underneath that, but it’s not the pure heat at the center of the earth, in a volcanic eruption. No, that’s char from a fire, a forest fire, and underneath that are still-living pines and the hint of high-altitude air.

Weird. Still, it’s warm, and when Karkat sleeps in it that night, he doesn’t toss and turn, doesn’t need to slide into a recuperacoon to feel secure enough to rest.

\--

Sollux is going to be late for class if he keeps doing this to himself, staying up until 5 in the morning to finish his code and then crashing for as long as he can. He still has ten minutes til 9:15, though. If he borrows Mituna’s falldown slat, maybe he can actually make it on time. Fuck, Karkat’s gonna kill him if he does this again, this subversive stay-up-all-night-to-finish-a-project thing. He already got pissed off enough to force-feed him last night, just like he used to when they were going on seven. At least the little fucker gave him his green sweatshirt to wear before he passed out.

One problem: This isn’t Karkat’s sweatshirt.

First off, Sollux is nearly a foot taller than him, and this thing actually fits. Second, it doesn’t have that curry essence to it that clings to most of Karkat’s clothes. Maybe a little, but it’s tempered down into something more wholesome, like cinnamon-sugar on slightly-burnt toast. Strawberry preserves somewhere on the side, window open with a fresh if cold breeze blowing in from the mountains. Shit, he must still be hungry if this is what he’s thinking about over a goddamn sweatshirt.

He steals the wrong injury panel from outside Mituna’s door—he only realizes when the stripe on the back is teal instead of yellow. To make up for it, he scrawls a quick 2orry on the whiteboard. When he pulls up the hood to stave off the Thursday morning chill, he catches a whiff of pine, and he has to nuzzle his sniffnode into the V where the hood meets the body so he can get at it again.

\--

 By Friday afternoon, it’s too warm for sweatshirts. Again. The Washington autumn has been freakish this year, vacillating between hot and cold too often for even John to get a good read on it. So he has the window of his dorm room open, not even caring that there’s a good number of bees trying to get through the bug screen and at the guy sitting next to him playing Mortal Kombat.

“Dammit, JB, why do you—rrgh—fuck you, Shaokhan!” When John looks over, he’s convinced Sollux is going to break the controller, he’s trying to combo so hard. “Why do you always pick this cumwad?”

“How about… try this!” It’s not the spear, it’s the green hammer. Sollux groans, hard, as his health bar is completely drained. “I win! I win!”

“It’s a best two out of three, assnub.” Sollux moves Liukang around on the screen, does a bicycle kick, but John interrupts the combo. A taunt on the screen and Sollux is practically spitting. “This controller is broken—I can’t get a fucking combo—no, no, nonononono!”

“Flawless victory,” John intones along with the screen. “Game over.”

“No. Shut up. Thtop talking.” John’s about to yell when Sollux throws down the controller—he’s gonna break it!—before the troll’s mouth is on his and oh hello that’s a kiss that’s happening. “Necktht time,” Sollux breathes against his mouth once he pulls back, and why is that lisp so endearing, “we’re gonna play a little game I like to call payback.”

“Oh yeah?” John says.

“Yeah.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, motherfucker.”

Their faces are close. Sollux’s eyes are blown-out; he’s licking his upper lip, showing his fangs. The troll looks about to devour him. _Good._ Every nerve ending in John’s body is keyed up in anticipation, and a spark like static electricity arcs between their arms.

And then the fucking key scrapes in the goddamn lock and the door handle turns and there’s a little whistle as Dave Marianne Strider just waltzes in like he lives here or something. Which he does, but still. “Oh. Hey, Captor.”

“Yo, DV.” Sollux gives him the quick jerk of an up-nod.

Since when do these two know each other that well? John’s sure he never introduced them. Was it Karkat? Someone else? “I’m fine, by the way.”

“Honey, I’m home,” Dave adds sarcastically, plopping down his messenger bag in his desk chair.

Why is he here. He’s usually not here when the sun is out. Why can John not catch a break. Why. “Shit,” Sollux says from next to him, slapping at his wrist. Not wearing a watch. “DV, what time is it?”

“Three thirty-nine and twenty… five seconds.” Just off the top of his head. How the hell does he do that?

Doesn’t seem to matter. Sollux bolts upright like he was electrocuted. Maybe he was—his skin seems like it’s crackling. “I gotta—I have work. Shit, I have work. I gotta go.” He grabs his bag, runs a hand through his hair. “What am I forgetting?”

“Glasses.” Why he took them off to stare at the TV is another question entirely. Still, John grabs them from the shelf by his bed, hands them over, and he delights in the bare ghosting of Sollux’s fingertips against his palm when the troll takes them to put them on. “Do you need dinner?”

“I’ll be fine.” And before John can really prepare, Sollux ducks in for a quick peck on the lips before he leaves. “Text me,” he calls back before he leaves.

The room’s kind of… quiet, once he leaves. Then, once Dave has his laptop back on his desk, “Oh, I’m sorry.” The sarcasm is ladled on there pretty thick. “Did I interrupt some gay sex?”

“Not really.” John shuts the window—the buzzing is getting kind of annoying—and switches off the tiny monitor-television on top of the minifridge. “What are you doing back so early?”

“Missed you, too,” Dave replies, and is that a tone of genuine hurt or is he just mocking being insulted? “You should probably go see him later. He left his sweatshirt.”

“Uh, no, that’s my sweatshirt.” John can recognize his own clothes, thank you very much.

“Then why was he wearing it?” Okay, for that, John doesn’t quite have an explanation. His mouth gapes open while Dave crows in delight. “I knew it. I knew he’d get in your pants as soon as he got the chance. Did he sink your battleship with his flesh torpedo, or did you sink his?”

“Fuck off,” John says good-naturedly. Just to be sure, when he picks the sweatshirt up off the floor, he checks the Gildan tag inside. JKE. Just like he thought. In the guise of folding it, he brings it to his nose, and yeah. Yeah, that’s nice. (No, John isn’t fucking sniffing his not-boyfriend’s clothes. Those are his own clothes, thankyouverymuch.)  It’s not just Sollux permeated into the fabric, though. The edge of the hood kind of smells like Thai food, and the ends of the sleeves smell like fried electronics. Inside the hood smells like Dave’s pillowcases, kinda. Something like Mountain Dew in there as well, sorta. And under it all is the earthy, organic grounding of the trees surrounding his childhood home.

He puts it on and ducks his nose under the collar. It doesn’t matter how Sollux got it, though that’s a ponderable in and of itself, but it wasn’t from him… he doesn’t think, anyway. Maybe John left it in the room he shares with Karkat? Good enough explanation, and he feels like Sollux is still right here, next to him, as he boots up N++ and starts on his programming homework.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4boys1shirt? the brotherhood of the travelling hoodie? too many bad puns


	10. Chapter 10

“Sol.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“You know, Alternia.”

The forecast says this is the last sunny day Seattle is going to see in a while—certainly the last warm one, unless a freak Indian summer swoops through in November. This, to John, means picnic, or at least not letting Sollux coop himself up in the dining hall while he shoves food into his face. Sunlight. It’s good for them. Especially good for the trolls, after leading a nocturnal lifestyle on their home planets, to be under a sun that doesn’t want to kill or blind them.

It’s getting to the point where they have a ‘spot.’ There’s an oak tree that’s between the footpath and the lake, far enough away that passersby can’t hear their conversation. More importantly, they can’t see if some clandestine kissing starts going on. With autumn sweeping in, the fallen foliage gives a cushion between their blanket and the tree’s roots, and the dappled sunlight that falls through the leaves is tinted vibrant shades of yellow, orange, and red.

John senses he might have gone too far with that last question. Next to him, Sollux’s shoulders are tense, but that might just be because he’s sprawled out on his stomach, squinting at his laptop screen reflecting light onto his face. “You don’t have to answer,” he says softly. “I was just curious.”

“Nah,” Sollux brushes him off. He lets a honeybee dawdle on his fingertips before he flicks it away. “Not so much.”

“Really?” If it were John’s home planet that had been destroyed in the reconciling Crisis, he might not be too happy about it. He licks wheat bread crumbs off his fingers, takes the last bite of his turkey-and-cheese sandwich.

Sollux flicks the straw to his soda off of his lips with the tip of his tongue. John likes it. Likes when he does that. Yes. “The way things were going for me, I probably would’ve ended up as a replacement battery.” As much as he can shrug in this awkward position, he does it right now, his shoulderblades coming together under his shirt. John is mesmerized.

Oh. Right. That whole empress-imprisoning-him-with-godtier-life-powers-and-forcing-him-to-pilot-her-ship thing. That part probably would have sucked. Also all the times he could have been killed. Also the time he killed someone he cared about because of yet another someone’s mind control. John reaches over, lays a hand soft on Sollux’s bony shoulder, runs over to the tension on his spine and follows it straight down. All told, he’s glad Sollux made it. “You don’t miss _anything_?”

“Maybe,” Sollux hedges. John pets down his back again and his fingers stutter on the keyboard. “My hive, sometimes. I had it set up just the way I liked it. My husktop had this cocoon dock, and it was connected to a 128-bee server hive—that thing could fucking _book_ when I needed it to.” He sighs, his breath ruffling his hair. When’s the last time he had a haircut? “Just little things like that.”

“I’m sorry.” Maybe it’s John’s fault directly, but even if it isn’t, he still feels guilty. He can’t exactly hug Sollux in apology, but he can roll over on the blanket and drape his arm across Sollux’s lower back, nuzzle his face into his shoulder.

“It’s not so bad,” Sollux says lightly, reaching up to ruffle John’s hair. “One of these days I’ll have to show you. It has to be in a dream bubble out there somewhere.”

“Let me get this straight.” John tugs at Sollux’s shirt playfully with his teeth, then plants his lips below the troll’s ear. Sollux’s breath hitches in his throat—John can feel it, which makes him want to do it again. “You’re asking me to come back to your place, but you want me unconscious. You kinky little fucker.” He’s teasing, of course, both with his words and with the light little kisses along Sollux’s throat.

Sollux pushes John off him, but at the same time, he’s laughing, every tooth showing in a wide grin, eyes crinkling with the mirth of it. With the momentum, John rolls off the blanket, and when he makes it back on, he has leaves stuck to the back of his shirt. “You’re tho groth,” Sollux lisps at him.

“God, that’s adorable.” It’s the way his tongue flicks between his teeth, how his childhood speech impediment comes back in full force around him. It makes John feel a little better to know he’s not the only one tripping over his words here, not the only one out of his element and eager to please. He drapes himself across the troll’s back again, pressing his front into Sollux’s side, and starts again with his mouth right where the collar of Sollux’s shirt meets the base of his throat.

“Yeah, well,” Sollux attempts to grumble, but it comes out breathier than he probably intended. “We both know your voice cracks whenever you get excited, so.” He does a little better this time around, the lisp more of a whistle and the S-sounds a little more distinctive. “Hey, cut that out, I’m trying to—“

“Nope,” John mumbles into the corner of his jaw, scraping his teeth over his earlobe in the process.

“Okay, that’s it,” and John can’t quite decipher that smile, whether it’s happy or devious, but the elbow Sollux delivers to his stomach settles the issue pretty decisively. While he tries to get his breath back, Sollux pushes him over, and very suddenly there’s a shift in gravity and he’s on his back and he’s got a very smirky troll looking down at him. “I’m gonna kiss you so hard—“

Before he can psych himself out too much, John yanks him down himself, resulting in their mouths meeting somewhat more violently than he’d anticipated. Ow. That kind of hurt his teeth. He doesn’t mind so much, though, when Sollux immediately starts running the flat of his teeth across his lips, threatening to bite but not quite and oh. That’s nice.

One of the troll’s hands runs up along the side of his neck, meets his hair, runs fingers through it and holds his head close. For a minute, John’s afraid there’s going to be some glasses-scratching, but Sollux thinks of everything, he really does, getting them off his face and on the keyboard of his laptop before getting back down to business and pushing his tongue into his mouth why does he always taste so fucking good?

That’s it. John’s not settling for this. He plants his foot, rolls the two of them over, and now there’s a long stretch of gangly, dorky troll laid out under him. Perfect. He pushes up Sollux’s shirt, moving his hand slow so he doesn’t startle the troll. All of him is so sensitive, and John still doesn’t know what might set him off. His kisses are languorous and sweet.

He wants to memorize him. Commit his body, his reactions, to memory. The texture of Sollux’s skin under his fingers is still too foreign for his liking—nothing like human skin, less soft-porous and more slick-compact, like a never-ending snakescale or the gray expanse of a shark’s flank. John should probably be more afraid, given that he’s sticking his tongue into a mouthful of shark teeth, but there’s an absurd amount of what he can only call trust swelling in his chest and making it hard for him to breathe.

John rests his hand at Sollux’s bare waist, rubbing little circles into his stomach with the pad of his thumb. Sollux has his one hand in John’s hair still, the other one cradling his face. John likes the feel of the callouses on his fingertips, the threat of claws. He’s going to have to talk to him one of these days about taking care of that, but today isn’t that day. Today is lazy makeouts under the oak tree day, apparently, and that’s fine by John.

A few geese start honking to each other on the lake. One jogger passes by them ten feet away on the footpath, then another. The sun ducks behind a cloud, comes out again, and a leaf falls straight into John’s hair. And still he’s unwilling to take his mouth away from the troll’s, especially since Sollux has started breathing a little harder, little huffs gusting over John’s cheek.

What John isn’t expecting, though, is for Sollux to flip the two of them back over. He doesn’t look that strong, but goddamn, with his hand up against the troll’s stomach like this, John can feel every one of his muscles moving in the motion, corded tight under his skin. Sollux’s hands move down to fist in his shirt, and their kisses get a little faster. More insistent. Less lips and more teeth. Sollux makes a quiet little sound like a “ _haaaahhh_ ” against John’s mouth, and John pushes his shirt up a little further.

They’re making out. They’re making out in public. They’re making out and people can probably see them around the tree but if John can keep this tame—this isn’t staying tame, is it. Not according to his crotch it isn’t. “Sol,” he breathes out against the troll’s mouth. It only makes Sollux kiss him harder, a spark of uncontrolled electricity shocking him to the bone. “Sol, wait, we’re in—“

“I don’t care,” Sollux growls low into his ear, and yes hello that’s a semi and John really, really wants it to go away. It’s unbearably hot that Sollux doesn’t want to stop just because people can see. That he’s okay with this, so far as to be proud of it, to want to show John off like this.

“No, not,” John manages to gasp out between kisses. “Not that, the—the other thing.”

“What other…?” Sollux trails off. One of his hands trails down John’s chest even as he keeps hungrily devouring his words, and then things are going south of his navel and John tries and completely fails to keep his hips still when Sollux’s hand moves further than just the waistband of his shorts.

“That thing.” Yeah, at the quarry, there’d been some awkward dick-fumblings through pants on both their parts, but that was in the privacy of John’s car, in the dark, when no one else was around. Also, John might have sort of come in his pants a little bit when Sollux rubbed at him too insistently. He still doesn’t know if Sollux was as worked up as he was at that point, but there was definitely something hard John managed to pin up against his hip at one point. Point is, they still haven’t even seen each other’s dicks. And that should probably come before touching each other’s dicks in public. “Not now,” John pleads with him.

Sollux stops kissing him, but butts their foreheads together before nuzzling him like that. “Yeah,” he says softly, then “Yeah” again. If the slight shaking in his hand is any indication, he’s not exactly ready for that, either. It’s not that John doesn’t want. Because oh god, does he want. It’s just that… well. Sollux is an alien. Who knows what he’s got going on downstairs? John kind of wants to take his time with this guy. Explore a little. Learn as he goes. And he wants Sollux to feel like he can do the same to him in return.

So… not now. Sollux gets it, though, if the last lingering kiss he leaves is any indication. When he pulls back, his mouth is flushed gold, and John runs his thumb across it. Wow. That’s incredible. Someday. Someday when the two of them can get a little privacy, he’s going to make every single part of this guy flush like that.

Sollux rolls back over to get into his own personal space, on his stomach in front of his computer again. Without his glasses, all John can see is a watercolor, vague outlines of colors blending into one another. Soft and hazy. The movement of Sollux’s fingers is a blur—moreso than usual, anyway. “Want your specs back?” the troll offers, holding them out to John.

“I’m good,” John says. He’s warm and content and he still has an hour before he has to go to his next class, so now is the perfect time to drape his sweatshirt over his face to block out the light and get at least a little rest. Sollux knows better than to let him sleep through it, and as John dozes off, he starts plotting various ways to get back at him if the troll just leaves him here.


	11. Chapter 11

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 15:48 --  
EB: hey.  
EB: so.  
EB: uh.  
EB: i was doing our laundry just now.  
EB: yes, i know, i know, i am the best roommate ever and you should grovel prostrate at my feet.  
EB: i was doing the laundry and there are kind of.  
EB: um.  
EB: is this why there are always fines tacked to our door with your name on them?  
TG: sup egbert  
EB: sup, dave.  
EB: so?  
TG: let me actually read these messages  
TG: jesus dicks you cant rush perfection  
TG: having a sublime snarky comeback aint easy  
TG: so whats this about fines  
EB: i mean...  
EB: i always thought you were working on music or something, and that was why we got excessive noise fines.  
TG: what in the unholy hell are you blabbering about  
EB: these are panties.  
EB: in our laundry.  
EB: panties in our laundry that i am holding in my hands right now.  
EB sent file 000595.png  
EB: just in case you don't believe me.  
TG: oh  
TG: just those  
TG: those are mine  
EB: they're... yours.  
TG: yeah  
EB: ... okay, then.  
TG: problem  
EB: no!  
EB: no problem.  
EB: i guess i'll just bring these up then.  
TG: what a perfect little housewife  
TG: pukes in your hair  
EB: i am not folding this for you.  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 16:11 --

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 7:18 --  
TG: im out of shampoo  
EB: that's nice.  
TG: whatever will i do  
TG: egbert i cant leave our room without a properly coiffed headbird  
TG: its herbal essences commercial grade or bust  
TG: perfect strangers must feel the irrational urge to run their fingers through my keratin strands  
EB: you're so vain.  
TG: dont do it  
EB: you probably think this song is about you.  
TG: you did it  
EB: you are lucky i'm at the store right now.  
TG: are you really  
TG: its almost as if you have a weekly routine  
TG: could you pick me up some  
EB: is dove aqua impact okay?  
TG: nah  
TG: get the suave no tears  
EB: you mean this pink bottle that says the scent is fairy berry strawberry?  
TG: dont knock the tear free man  
TG: two in one shampoo and conditioner  
TG: keeps your dickskin silky soft  
EB: oh my god.  
TG: thats right  
TG: im the reason lalonde had to put up those little signs in the showers  
TG: wanted to save those potential little davelets from going down the drain  
EB: i'm going to pretend like that conversational detour didn't just happen.  
EB: anything else, sir?  
TG: excuse me  
TG: you will address me as your majesty  
TG: princess strider  
EB: any last requests, your highness?  
TG: dont kill me  
EB: i'll have to send that through parliament, but i have a feeling it'll pass.  
EB: who's your prime minister?  
TG: you  
TG: congratulations  
TG: i dont need to tell you how high an honor this is  
EB: is there a medal?  
TG: duh  
TG: caveat though  
TG: its made of chocolate  
TG: and you gotta stand next to a coked up carrie fisher and a wookiee at the awards ceremony  
EB: will harrison ford be there?  
TG: yeah  
TG: but hes gonna yell at you that he already works around the clock  
EB: deal.  
EB: no worries!  
EB: you'll have your shampoo by the time you actually have to go to class.  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 7:37 --

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 19:59 --  
EB: so i'm finishing up laundry.  
EB: you're welcome, by the way.  
EB: one question, though.  
EB: where the hell did you get these pants?  
TG: theres nothing wrong with getting denim at an outlet store  
TG: not like moneys an issue or anything  
TG: but thats still no reason to waste it  
TG: drive a few hours and i can get a better deal than online  
TG: plus then i dont need to wait on shipping  
EB: no, i mean.  
EB: where did you get these pants.  
TG: why does it matter  
EB: i guess it doesn't!  
EB: it's just that.  
EB: mine have a waist and inseam size on the waistband.  
EB: yours don't.  
EB: they just have a number on the inside tag.  
TG: thats because you buy yours in the section of the store where the mannequins have washboard abs  
TG: where i buy mine the models have very perky and extremely hard nippled titties  
TG: because thats the only thing that can contain the legendary strider badonkadonk  
EB: please don't start.  
TG: ass  
TG: kiester  
TG: posterior  
TG: fart clapper  
TG: or dare i say  
TG: plush rump  
EB: i get it, i get it.  
EB: you could bounce quarters off it.  
TG: why i never  
TG: way to make a lady feel violated  
EB: i haven't been staring or anything!  
EB: it's just like you said.  
EB: legendary.  
TG: turns out ladies pants have more room in the trunk  
TG: doesnt matter where i got them from though  
TG: theyre mine now  
EB: i guess that's true!  
EB: i'm still not folding these, though.  
EB: you can do at least that much yourself.  
EB: when are you coming back tonight?  
TG: idk  
TG: probably not for a few more hours  
EB: really? ugh.  
EB: the point of us being roommates was that we could hang out all the time.  
EB: instead of just when my dad or your bro let us.  
TG: i know  
TG: its just  
TG: im busy  
EB: you're always busy.  
EB: just... come home and be busy here.  
EB: and put away your clothes, our room is starting to get messy again.  
TG: fine daddy  
EB: strider.  
TG: sorry  
TG: be there soon  
\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 20:20 --

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 5:39 --  
TG: EGBERT  
TG: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT  
EB: you woke me up.  
EB: why did you wake me up.  
TG: WHAT DID YOU DO???  
EB: what do you mean, what did i do?  
TG: MY HAIR  
TG: MY BEAUTIFUL FUCKING HAIR  
TG: IS ROUGHLY THE COLOR  
TG: OF THE INSIDE OF MY ASSHOLE  
EB: oh, that!  
TG: THIS ISNT AN EXCLAMATION MARK MOMENT EGBERT  
TG: THIS IS A MY HAIR IS FUCKING PINK AND I WANT A GODDAMN EXPLANATION MOMENT  
EB: i knew you only had a little shampoo left in that bottle, so i put just a little red dye in there.  
EB: think of it as the prize at the bottom!  
TG: OH MY FUCKING GOG  
TG: HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUTID  
TG: I HAVE TO GO TO CLASS LIKE THIS  
EB: stop doing that allcaps thing, it's freaking me out.  
EB: you sound way too much like karkat.  
TG: RUINED  
TG: MY HAIR IS RUINED  
TG: WHAT A WORLD WHAT A WORLD  
TG: WHO WOULDA THOUGHT A FUCKTRUMPET LIKE YOU COULD DESTROY MY BEAUTIFUL WICKEDNESS  
EB: relax, asshole.  
EB: it's not even permanent.  
EB: it will wash out the next time you shower.  
TG: oh  
TG: well then  
TG: in that case  
TG: well played egbert  
TG: wonder if my ectobro still has that sweet lolita getup lying around  
TG: probably not  
TG: doesnt matter  
TG: i shouldnt go to class looking like madoka  
EB: you're not even madoka!  
EB: you're homura.  
EB: we've been over this.  
TG: you watch way too much anime  
TG: now excuse me while i put these hello kitty clips in my perfectly pink princess hair  
\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] ceased pestering ectoBiologist  [EB] at 5:53 --

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 19:30 --  
EB: why does our room smell like nail polish?  
TG: how do you know what nail polish smells like  
EB: i narrowed it down to nail polish, pvc glue, or a meth lab.  
EB: did we get maintenance done on the laminate?  
TG: no  
EB: are you making meth in our dorm room?  
TG: fuck no  
EB: then it must be nail polish.  
EB: so i ask again.  
EB: why does our room smell like nail polish?  
TG: that would be me  
TG: putting the man in manicure  
TG: i work with machines all day  
TG: working my fingers to little stubs  
TG: might at least make my nails look good  
TG: protects from breakage  
TG: although i gotta say this shit is chipping already  
TG: cheap drugstore crap  
EB: oh?  
TG: loreal  
TG: because im worth it bitch  
EB: i don't doubt it.  
EB: next time you paint your nails, crack a window, okay?  
EB: it is a little overpowering for such a small space.  
TG: got it  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering turntechGodhead  [TG] at 19:40 --


	12. Chapter 12

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering twinArmageddons  [TA] at 8:24 --  
EB: hey you.  
EB: i know i am in class right now but i had to message you.  
EB: because you're not.  
TA: that'2 riight.  
EB: are you sick?  
TA: no, 2hiita22.  
EB: roxy says she didn't see you at work last night either.  
EB: you always show up to work.  
TA: ii know.  
EB: are you sure you're not sick?  
TA: ye2!  
TA: ii'm not fuckiing 2iick.  
TA: iit'2 ju2t a headache.  
EB: if it was just a headache you'd be here.  
TA: ii'm not a 2tupiid wriiggler, JB.  
TA: ii can take care of my2elf.  
EB: but you must not be feeling good!  
TA: beecau2e ii have a miigraiine riight now that feel2 liike my entiire thiinkpan ii2 tryiing two prolap2e out my auriicular 2ponge clot2.  
TA: iit'2 happened beefore and ii guarantee you iit'll happen agaiin.  
EB: do you want me to pick you up something?  
EB: i can always stop by.  
EB: after this, i don't have class until 1.  
TA: iit would bee great iif you wouldn't coddle me.  
EB: i just want to make sure you are okay.  
EB: i am really worried since you didn't show up this morning.  
EB: i'll email you my notes before i leave.  
EB: then i am going to stop by the grind before i come see you so i can pick up some herbal tea for you.  
EB: with lots of honey, because i know you like that!  
TA: why are you doiing thii2.  
TA: ii'm defiiniitely not worth thii2 much fu22.  
EB: because i actually give a shit when the people in my life aren't feeling their best.  
TA: jegu2.  
TA: DV was riight and now ii owe hiim fiive human buck2.  
EB: right about what?  
TA: iit'2 nothiing.  
TA: ii gue22 iif you're 2o hell-bent on helpiing me there'2 nothiing ii can really do two 2top you at thii2 poiint.  
EB: i knew you would see reason!  
EB: :D  
EB: it might be a little while but i will be there soon.  
TA: don't you have cla22 later twoday?  
EB: you would think, but no.  
EB: not while you still have this migraine.  
TA: don't you dare 2kiip cla22.  
EB: oh darn, your signal is conveniently breaking up just in time for me not to have received that message!  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering twinArmageddons  [TA] at 8:56 --

\--

As soon as class gets out, John heads straight for his car. He’s not wasting his time with on-campus Starbucks when he can actually get the right kind of tea for a really bad headache. It should probably be a bad thing that the people working the counter at the Grind are getting to know his face by now, but it does make things easier when he puts in his orders.

He probably breaks land speed records trying to get back to campus, but he parks in front of Sollux’s dorm with a minimum of jackassery. Of course, Vriska recognizes him when he walks by. “Hey, Egbert,” she calls as he breezes right past her, the eight sound actually audible in her voice.

“Can’t stop, sorry!” is his apology. He takes the stairs two at a time, feeling almost like a gust is pushing him along in the right direction. Sollux and Karkat still haven’t taken the orientation decorations off of their door. It’s kinda cute. John knocks, but at first, the only response is a moaning sound. Oh. Right. Migraine. Probably sensitive to loud, percussive noises. When he tries the door handle, it opens right away.

It’s dark in here. Light sensitivity, too, looks like. One of the beds has a more lumpy mass of blankets on it; John can just barely see four horns poking out of it. He holds down the handle of the door to shut it silently. “It’th unlocked,” the blanket burrito mumbles quietly.

“Jeez.” He keeps his voice down, though. Once he sets down Sollux’s tea on the ledge near his bed, he picks up, rather than drags, his desk chair over so he has a place to sit that won’t disrupt the troll too much. “You sound miserable.” His lisp is really obvious right now.

“Oh, really. Darn. I thought I wath improving.” It’s clearly sarcastic, but it makes John smile a little. “It feels like a volcano is going off, only within the region of my cranium.” Implied in his tone is a desperate _please make it stop_.

“I don’t know if this will help, but I brought tea.” Maybe it will—the blanket mass has attained sentience enough to move on its own. “Won’t hurt to at least get hydrated, right?”

When Sollux emerges from his cocoon, he looks terrible. The circles under his eyes are even more exaggerated than normal. It almost seems like some of the color has drained out of his eyes. He has a split lip, and dried honey-gold is drooled down to his chin. Even his horns don’t look as shiny as they normally are. “What’th in here?” he asks, even as he takes the to-go cup and starts sipping.

“I got the headache blend from the Grind. It’s mostly green tea, I think, with some mint and ginger and plum. And lovage.” Sollux glares at him. “What? That’s what it’s called. Ancient Chinese secret.”

 “Tathteth like shit,” he gripes.

“That’s how you know it’s good for you.”

“No offenthe, but can you jutht—not talk? I can’t do talk right now.” John just nods in response. He’s fine with being quiet, so long as Sollux just lets him _be_ here for him. That’s all he wants, really.

Sollux drinks no more than half of the tea before he sets his cup back down and flumps back down onto his bed. When it’s clear he’s not getting up for a while, John brings up the blankets to cover his head and plays with his phone while Sollux sleeps the worst of it off.

\--

“It’th not jutht a migraine.”

Sollux’s voice is so loud in the stillness and dark of the room that it actually makes John jolt in his seat. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” Sollux rolls over to face him; the blanket slips off his head. When he opens his eyes, he’s staring straight past John’s glasses and right through his head, feels like. “Promithe you won’t flip an entire female barkbeatht when I tell you thith.”

“Is it the sort of thing people usually flip a bitch over?” At least John’s getting better at deciphering troll idioms, especially seeing as Sollux is too dazed right now to attempt pure English terms.

Sollux shrugs. Or, well, a fold of the blanket slips down his shoulder, which is as much movement as John’s seen out of him today. “You know how I can do that electrithity thing?” John nods, not wanting to talk too much or disrupt what’s probably a fragile train of thought. “That ithn’t a party trick, either. I’m a pthionic. And a really fucking good one, too.”

He falls silent. John edges closer. “Do you think… maybe it’s because you have a fried circuit somewhere? Maybe you weren’t grounded.” He knows less than nothing about actual computer components.

Sollux glares at him, clearly communicating _what are you, stupid?_ “Pthionicth is about more than cool glowy shit, douchebag. I wathn’t kidding when I thaid I wath going to be a replathement battery if I thtuck around on Alternia. There’th definite downthideth.” The more he talks, the more exhausted he sounds. “Or maybe it’th jutht a lowblood thing. Who knowth?”

“Sollux.” This quiet, John’s voice comes out as more of a warm rumble than anything. “Please just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I hear dead people.” John has no idea what to say to that. “I gueth that’th not ecthactly it. I can jutht… tell, thometimeth, when bad thingth are about to happen. Becauthe the people who are about to die thtart thcreaming in my head.”

“That…” John swallows heavily. “That sounds really painful.”

“Don’t worry, it totally ith.”

“Okay, no, I told myself I wasn’t going to do this but you don’t really leave me a choice.” John kicks off his shoes. “Scoot over.”

“What?”

“Scoot over,” John repeats. “I’m about to cuddle the shit out of you.”

“I jutht told you I’m hearing voitheth, and your immediate rethponthe ith to get clother to me?” What comes out of Sollux next is probably supposed to be a laugh but sounds more like a wheeze.

“I know it doesn’t make sense. Just… go with me on this, okay?” Plus, if John can get his mouth closer to Sollux’s ear, he doesn’t have to be so loud when he talks.

Sollux isn’t moving. He does make a grumbling noise that sounds a lot like “fine” when John bodily shoves him against the wall so he can climb into this obnoxiously narrow extra-long twin with him. When John slings his arm over Sollux’s waist, the troll feels… thin. Like a bag of bones. He probably hasn’t eaten today. Hopefully that’s it. “You can thay I’m crathy,” Sollux says eventually.

“You’re not, though. I mean… it’s probably just one of those troll things, right?” Sollux buries his head in one of John’s broad shoulders; John brings his chin down, very carefully, to keep a hold on the top of his head but at the same time not get gored by one of those horns. “Or if not, hey. Maybe it’s a side effect for Doom players.”

“Eheh.” Okay, that sound was a lot more like a laugh. “Maybe.”

“I mean, it isn’t anyone we know.” Or is it? “Right?”

“No, I’d know.” Sollux hooks a leg around John’s. Now he can’t move at all, even if he wanted to. “Probably jutht a routine natural dithaster. And it’th not as loud as it could be.”

“Oh. Well, that’s good,” John bluffs. People are still dying, but it’s harder to care when it’s not people he actually knows or cares about. “And, uh. So long as we’re telling secrets…” That had to have been intensely personal for Sollux to tell him that. It’s only fair if John gets something off his chest, too. “I get panic attacks.”

“I know.”

“Not just like that thing when Dave collapsed. That was totally called for.”

“Oh,” Sollux says softly.

“All the time. Most of the time it doesn’t matter what I’m doing. Or it didn’t used to, anyway.” He’s not making any sense. Oh well. Most of this is just so Sollux can hear the sound of his voice, feel the way it thrums through his chest. “It’s a little better now, and I have meds if it gets bad again, but I still get them if I’m stressed. Or tired. No warning, either. One minute I’m fine. Sometimes ringing in my ears if I get lucky. Then I’m on my knees and the room feels tilted and my head’s swimming and I can’t breathe.”

Sollux doesn’t respond. No quiet word, no nod. Just… nothing. Asshole fell asleep while John was explaining. That’s actually adorable. “I just tried to open up to you and you zonked out on me. I’m holding this over your head _forever_.”

\--

Maybe an hour later, John has to pee. Peeing involves getting up. Unfortunately, he’s been pulled into Sollux’s black hole of blankets, and trying to get out of bed right now involves extricating from six feet and four inches of very clingy, very pissy, very sleepy troll. Experimentally, John tries to pry Sollux off by pushing his head away, but then Sollux makes this deep groaning noise at the movement. What the hell—

Oh. Because John’s got a thumb right between his horns.

John presses down with the pad of his thumb again and gets the same noise. Not exactly a pained groan, either. It sounds almost like relief. Hm. He’ll have to come back to this.

He leaves Sollux’s tea warming in the microwave while he uses the bathroom. When he gets back into the room, the tea’s hot again, and Sollux is awake enough to drink some more of it. “Hey, don’t dive back down in there yet,” John chides him when he puts the cup down. “I want to see something really quick.”

“Don’t you dare—ohhhhh.” Okay, all John did was massage around the base of his horns again, but that noise was just downright _pornographic_. That, and the fluttering of Sollux’s eyes, and John knows he’s onto something here. “Fuck,” Sollux sighs out when John’s other hand comes into play.

“Better?” When Sollux nods, John doesn’t miss the way it pushes his horns right into his plying fingers.

\--

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering gardenGnostic  [GG] at 11:49 --  
EB: hi!  
GG: hey :D  
GG: how goes it??  
EB: you know that composition class we have this afternoon?  
EB: can i maybe get a copy of your notes from today's lecture?  
GG: why?  
GG: are you skipping class??  
EB: shh!!  
EB: i don't really want people to know i am not going to be there.  
GG: are you playing hooky to have some interspecies hanky panky instead????? :O  
EB: what?  
EB: no!  
EB: sollux has a migraine and i am trying to take care of him.  
GG: this is so not fair :(  
GG: the last time i had really bad cramps you didnt skip class to take care of me :(((  
EB: because i had very legitimate fears that you would actually, literally bite my hands off if i tried to help you.  
GG: point taken  
GG: you cant honestly tell me there wont be at least a little something going on though  
EB: jade.  
EB: i am not taking advantage of sollux while he is mentally incapacitated.  
EB: that is gross and also uncalled for.  
GG: not even a little smooching??  
EB: i gave him a horn massage and that is it.  
GG: :O  
EB: what?  
GG: thats  
GG: kind of a big deal for trolls bro  
EB: i don't know, i think it made him feel a little better.  
EB: he is actually out of bed right now for the first time in a few hours.  
EB: maybe i should go check on him.  
EB: i hope i didn't make him throw up!  
GG: its been known to happen with migraines D:  
EB: after i gave him that massage, he did look a little queasy.  
GG: oh john  
GG: i dont think you need to check on him  
GG: i think hes just fine :)  
EB: you think so?  
GG: i know so  
EB: so you can take notes for me today?  
GG: um  
GG: im not going to be in class either  
EB: sis.  
EB: are you ditching again?  
GG: I AM NOT DITCHING!!!  
GG: i may or may not be spending the afternoon with roxy doing very very important scientific research  
GG: were testing a new prototype :D  
EB: whatever you say.  
EB: i guess i will worry about notes later.  
EB: sollux is back and i need to make sure he is okay.  
\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] ceased pestering gardenGnostic  [GG] at 12:05 --

\--

A half-hour later, Sollux staggers back into the room, hand over his eyes. “Did you throw up while you were in there?” John asks.

“Not really. Long thtory.” He collapses back on his bed, and he sounds completely exhausted. He doesn’t even move from where he faceplanted, arms limp at his sides, head mashed into the pillow, feet dangling over the end of the bed.

John just sighs. “Do you feel any better?”

“Loadth.”

“Sarcasm?”

Sollux turns his head so he can face John. “No. No, I actually—I do feel a little better.”

“How much better? Like, on a scale from zero to crap, would you say you’re at least below _please let me die_?”

“Yeah. Thomewhere around _I’m going to thleep for a week and throw mythelf a pity party but we all know I’m going to be fine_.” That snaggle-toothed smile is going to be the death of John.

John grins back, reaching over to gently pet Sollux’s hair. He avoids the horns this time, but Sollux is still purring contentedly. According to John’s entirely non-doctorly diagnosis, he’s going to be totally fine as long as he rests for the rest of the day. “Ready to do some homework?”

“Fuck off.” Sollux turns his head away, facing the wall now, and makes a vaguely wet-raspberry sound against his pillow.

Mood swings are back in full force, then. “You don’t actually have to do anything. I was going to just read to you, actually. You probably don’t want the lights on, and I don’t want you straining your eyes anyway.”

Sollux turns back to face him. He’s like Janus on that pillow, his facing direction indicating whether he’s pissed or pleased. “I think I’m falling in human friendship with you,” he says earnestly.

“Good to know.” John’s grinning so hard his face hurts. He plops their computer science textbook out of his messenger bag onto his lap, thumbs it open to the page marker for their current assignment. “Oh, and I have notes for you, too, from today.”

“Now I _know_ I’m falling in human friendship with you.”

“You are such a dork.” Finally. The right page. “Ready to learn about Perl?”

“Am I ever,” Sollux mumbles into the pillow.

At least both of his ears are available for listening. “Perl,” John begins, “is a family of high-level, general-purpose, interpreted, dynamic programming languages…”

\--

“So, how do you know Dave?” John not-so-suavely slips into a sentence of his reading.

“Through AA,” is the simplified answer.

John can fill in most of the rest from what he already knows. Aradia and Sollux are amiable enough, from what he’s seen. Aradia and Dave were both Time players, so that explains that much. “Did you guys used to hang out a lot or something?” John’s not jealous. There’s absolutely no reason to be jealous over the fact that his best friend and roommate has totally been hanging out with other people without even telling them. It would be stupid to be jealous over that!

“DV callth uth the dead kidth crew.” Sollux snorts a little, then rolls onto his side to face John. “Thee no dead, thpeak no dead, hear no dead.”

“So you’re… hearing, I guess,” John extrapolates.

“AA can talk to them, tho there’th thpeaking. And DV doethn’t ecthactly thee dead people on hith own, but he maketh enough copieth to qualify.” When John makes a face, Sollux explains, “AA’th ruleth. She liketh to throw corpthe partieth every tho often. DV oweth her one.”

“I have a feeling I don’t want to know, so I’m not going to ask,” John interrupts. “When did that even start, though?”

Sollux is feeling well enough to shrug now, at least. “Thometime during schoolfeeding, I gueth. We even have a nightth thinthe latht inthident thighn thomewhere.”

“Okay, enough with the lisp, Sollux. I need to ask you to be quiet, or we’re never going to get done with this chapter. And you should be resting. Shh, don’t speak,” John teases, laying a finger over his open mouth when it looks like Sollux might words again. “Perl has a Turing-complete grammar,” he keeps reading, “because parsing can be affected by run-time code executed during the compile phase. Therefore, Perl cannot be parsed by…”

\--

John snaps his textbook shut once he’s done reading the chapter, and Sollux jerks on the bed a little. Oh. Oops. “Are we done?” the troll snips at him.

“Did it get worse?”

“No, but it’th not any better, dumbath.”

“Well, at least you’re done reading for lecture on Friday.” And John doesn’t have to read it now, either.

Once again, he starts climbing into bed with Sollux. The troll actually shuffles over to accommodate him this time, making himself small in John’s arms again. Sometimes, it’s just nice to cuddle. Especially when you’re not feeling good. When John has those panicky days, sometimes he just feels like he needs to be held down, tethered to Earth a little. If that’s anything like what Sollux is going through, at least he can be here for him in a way that matters.

Sollux’s breathing evens out. He stops shifting quite so much. Is he asleep? “Hey, Sol.”

“Hey, what.”

“Um.” You actually forgot what you were going to ask for a second. This close, Sollux can really discombobulate him. Wait. No. That was it. “Why do you give everyone nicknames?”

“Two letterth,” he says briefly.

That’s not really a response, but John puzzles through it anyway. “A binary thing?”

Sollux nods. One of his horns scratches idly against the scruff at John’s chin. “I like duplicateth better.”

“Like KK or AA or FF.” Makes sense, in a weird why-do-you-have-that-weird-fetish kind of way. “Why not EE for me?”

“Now that jutht thoundth thtupid.”

“Ethpecially in your lisp, silly,” John teases, planting a kiss in Sollux’s hair. He smells slightly like musty honey. “You used to call me JN. What changed?”

“JB doethn’t thlur tho much between thyllableth,” Sollux says sleepily. “Eathier to keep the duality thtraight.”

“If you say so.” John chuckles idly as he rubs his hand up and down Sollux’s back. “It’s weird. I think Karkat might be the only person who actually uses my real name. Dave just calls me Egbert.”

“Mutht prefer thurnameth,” comes out in a mumble into John’s shirt.

John brings his hand up to massage at the point where Sollux’s hair meets the nape of his neck, and the troll starts purring in his arms. Good call. “You guys all use different names for me. Put it all together, and between the three of you, it’s like I’m a whole person.”

Sollux huffs out a little snorted laugh at that. John keeps pressing the pad of his thumb against the top of Sollux’s spine. Eventually, Sollux starts idly running his hand up and down John’s side, tracing his muscles through the fabric of his shirt. It’s… nice. Sensual, but not really going anywhere. Just what Sollux needs to calm down.

Except that the entire universe is out to get John, because the moment they slip into something more comfortable, the door opens, and a short little fuckassical troll walks in and ruins the moment. He’s loud as hell, too, the door banging solidly against the wall, then slamming shut again as Karkat keeps nattering about something. “… shouldn’t have to call him a ben tiansheng de yi dui rou to make him actually grade my exam on time…”

“KK, can you pleathe not do that, I have a migraine,” Sollux mumbles, cringing.

“Shut up, you don’t have a—“ And then Karkat seems to realize that the entire room was dark and quiet before he walked in. “Shit,” he whistles between his teeth.

And then he sees John.

Karkat’s eyes widen just the slightest bit—then narrow into little red slits. He bares his teeth, hissing just the slightest bit, and before John can stop him, there’s a sickle in his hand and he’s striding into the room and towards him. “It’s not what it looks like!” John insists, even as his friend’s bearing down on him.

“Get out,” Karkat rumbles, low and dangerous.

Before John can even ask Sollux to back him up, though, he’s blindly reaching out of the blanket pile, towards Karkat’s face. His hand doofs against Karkat’s nose. And then again. And again. Oh, shit. John’s actually watching a shooshpapping in progress. “It’th not what it lookth like,” Sollux repeats.

Karkat’s still growling, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest. John’s not taking his chances, not while the troll still has a weapon out. “I… think that now might be a good time to go.” Sollux doesn’t let go easy, but he climbs out of bed and grabs his bag, all under Karkat’s watchful eye. “I’ll. Um. I’ll text?”

“Just go!” Karkat snarls.

“Got it. Going. Gone,” John calls back before shutting the door. Jesus, that was scary. Hanging out with someone whose mouth his tongue has been in should not be a near-dick-losing experience. feel better! he scribbles on their whiteboard before he scampers.


	13. Chapter 13

\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] ceased trolling ectoBiologist  [EB] at 16:13 --  
CG: YOU DON'T GET ME OFF THAT EASY.  
CG: I MEAN  
CG: JUST  
CG: GET BACK HERE SO I CAN KICK YOUR ASS.  
EB: i am going to tell you no because i kind of don't want a sickle shoved in my rectum.  
CG: WHY WOULD I EVER, AND I MEAN EVER, WANT TO SHOVE SOMETHING UP YOUR WEIRD HUMAN RECTUM?  
CG: WHATEVER THAT IS.  
EB: it is definitely a place sickles should not be shoved.  
EB: why did you even pull them out, anyway?  
CG: I WALKED IN ON YOU TRYING TO PAIL MY MOIRAIL.  
EB: that's not what i was doing!  
CG: THEN WHY WERE YOU WITH HIM ON HIS CONCUPISCENT PLATFORM?  
CG: TOUCHING HIM LIKE THAT.  
CG: LOOKING AT HIM LIKE THAT.  
EB: because he was feeling bad and i wanted him to feel better.  
EB: it even seemed to be helping before you came in!  
EB: and why did you even stay in the room when you saw us like that, anyway, if that was really what you thought?  
EB: why was your immediate response to aggress instead of to abscond?  
CG: MY MOIRAIL, JOHN.  
CG: IN THE ROOM THAT I SHARE WITH HIM.  
CG: TECHNICALLY, I HAVE MORE OF A RIGHT TO BE THERE THAN YOU DO, ANYWAY.  
EB: i guess so.  
EB: but i really wanted to check up on him.  
CG: THAT'S WHEN YOU MESSAGE HIM.  
CG: AND WHEN HE SAYS HE FEELS LIKE BEHEMOTH LEAVINGS, YOU LEAVE HIM THE FUCK ALONE.  
EB: karkat, when my friends feel like crap, that is the last thing i want to do.  
CG: IS THIS SOME HUMAN HOOFBEASTSHIT?  
CG: LIKE SOME MESSED UP PRESERVATION INSTINCT THAT GOT CODED COMPLETELY WRONG INTO YOUR GENOME OR SOMETHING?  
CG: THAT'S NOT WHAT YOU DO, JOHN.  
EB: i don't get it.  
EB: shouldn't you be thanking me?  
EB: i made sure your moirail was okay.  
EB: i brought him tea.  
EB: i read him his homework.  
EB: i held him when he wasn't feeling good.  
EB: i even gave him a horn massage.  
CG: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
EB: i know i am going to regret this, but.  
EB: what now?  
CG: I KNEW IT!  
CG: YOU TOOK ADVANTAGE OF HIM, DIDN'T YOU?  
EB: oh my god no.  
EB: all i did was give him a scalp massage.  
EB: i give jade massages all the time when she feels bad.  
EB: he said he felt better afterwards!  
CG: THAT'S IT  
CG: I'M GOING TO KILL YOU  
CG: IF YOU WOULD LIKE A FINAL MEAL YOU'D BETTER GO EAT IT  
CG: START WRITING A EULOGY FOR STRIDER TO READ AT YOUR CORPSE PARTY  
CG: AND I WILL MAKE DAMN FUCKING SURE THE NEEDLE LANDS ON JUST.  
EB: shoosh!  
CG: DID YOU JUST  
EB: shoooooooooooosh.  
CG: YOU DID NOT JUST  
EB: your moirail is incapacitated and you sound like you might be about to go on a murderous rampage.  
EB: somebody had to do it.  
CG: RAAARARRAAUUUAAAAUUAGHGHGGHGGGGHHGH!  
EB: do you feel better?  
CG: ... YEAH  
CG: YEAH, I ACTUALLY DO  
CG: I JUST  
CG: WASN'T EXPECTING YOU THERE  
CG: THAT'S ALL.  
EB: is this some weird moirail thing that i don't know about?  
CG: I'M USUALLY THE ONE WHO TAKES CARE OF HIM WHEN HE HAS MIGRAINES.  
EB: oh.  
EB: sorry, i guess?  
EB: i thought it was a good thing if i took pity on him like that.  
CG: NOT REALLY.  
CG: NOT LIKE THAT.  
EB: ... karkat.  
CG: WHAT?  
EB: are you maybe feeling left out?  
CG: WHAT, NO.  
EB: i think you are feeling left out.  
CG: LEFT OUT OF WHAT?  
CG: IT WAS KIND OF OBVIOUS YOU TWO DIDN'T WANT ME THERE.  
CG: HE DOESN'T NEED ME TO TAKE CARE OF HIM.  
CG: AND YOU DON'T NEED ME INTERRUPTING.  
CG: FORGET I SAID ANYTHING.  
CG: GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME.  
EB: nothing.  
EB: there is nothing wrong with you.  
EB: i guess it's normal to feel jealous!  
CG: I AM NOT JEALOUS!!  
EB: okay, whatever.  
EB: here.  
EB: let me make you a promise.  
EB: i know i haven't been on campus the last few sundays.  
EB: but the next time i am, you and i are going to sit down and have a good old fashioned bulgebump.  
EB: okay?  
CG: ... FINE.  
CG: DOES QUARTER PAST NEVER WORK FOR YOU?  
EB: now you are just being mean.  
CG: YOU TOOK MY JOB.  
EB: taking care of my friends is not a job.  
EB: it is something i do because it makes me happy.  
EB: it makes them happy, too.  
CG: MAYBE IT MAKES OTHER PEOPLE HAPPY TO FEEL NEEDED TOO.  
EB: do you want me to message you the next time sollux has a migraine so you can take care of him instead?  
CG: HONESTLY?  
CG: YOU'RE LUCKY HE DIDN'T KILL YOU.  
CG: YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT IT TO ME IN THE FIRST PLACE.  
EB: killed me?  
CG: HIS PSIONICS CAN KILL.  
EB: that sounds really bad.  
CG: IF YOU DON'T BELIEVE ME, ASK ARADIA.  
EB: no, i believe you!  
EB: you might be more qualified.  
EB: i just... wanted to be there for him.  
CG: TRUST ME  
CG: I GET IT  
CG: BUT HE'S AS STUBBORN AS STRIDER SOMETIMES  
CG: AND YOU ALREADY HAVE ONE OF THOSE IN YOUR LIFE.  
EB: point taken.  
EB: i guess i should only have one moirail thingy at a time.  
CG: IF I HAD A GOLD STAR, I'D STICK IT ON YOUR FOREHEAD.  
CG: YOU TRIED, EGBERT.  
CG: YOU FUCKING TRIED.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] ceased trolling ectoBiologist  [EB] at 16:43 --

\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] began trolling twinArmageddons  [TA] at 16:44 --  
CG: KEEP YOUR HUMAN ON A LEASH.  
TA: 2hut the fuck up.  
CG: DEAL.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] ceased trolling twinArmageddons  [TA] at 16:45 --


	14. Chapter 14

\-- centaursTesticle  [CT] began trolling cuttlefishCuller  [CC] at 11:04 --  
CT: D--> Your royal highness  
CC: --Equius, you silly, you don't )(ave to address me like t)(at! 38P  
CT: D--> My apologies  
CT: D--> I merely wished to alert you as to something I recently discovered  
CT: D--> Permission to speak freely  
CC: You can glub at me as muc)( as you like.  
CT: D--> On my routine perimeter sweeps I came upon a server  
CT: D--> It appears to contain information about your subje%  
CT: D--> I w001d have hacked into the server myself had I the time to see its contents  
CT: D--> But alas it dete% intrusions and my attempts w001d have done more harm than good  
CT: D--> I leave this matter in your capable hands for now  
CC: O)(, t)(is is so --EXCITING!  
CC: Solfis)( has been looking for a new project and t)(is s)(oald be exactly what he needs.  
CT: D--> You think it wise to trust a lowb100d with such e%tensive power  
CC: I trust )(im wit)( my LIF-----E.  
CT: D--> As you wish  
CT: D--> I w001d not presume to take up any more of your time  
\-- centaursTesticle  [CT] ceased trolling cuttlefishCuller  [CC] at 11:11 --

\-- cuttlefishCuller  [CC] began trolling twinArmageddons  [TA] at 11:11 --  
TA: hey FF.  
CC: S)(ello t)(ere!  
TA: to what do ii owe the plea2ure.  
CC: I )(ave somefin R--E---ELY interesting for you.  
TA: defiine iintere2tiing, the la2t tiime 2omethiing wa2 iintere2tiing ii wa2 electrocuted.  
CC: W)(ale, I don't t)(ink somefin like T)(AT will )(appen...  
CC: --Equius just glubbed me.  
CC: )(e said )(e found some kind of server?  
TA: a 2erver you 2ay, what kiind of 2erver.  
CC: Some sort of database? I don't know computers very well. 38(  
TA: he diidn't giive you coord2 or an addre22 or anythiing, diid he, ugh thii2 ii2 2o typiical.  
TA: ii'll me22age hiim for the detaiil2.  
CC: So you're going to )(ack in?  
TA: you bet your a22 ii'm goiing two hack iin, ii haven't had a challenge liike thii2 iin age2.  
CC: S)(ell yea)(!  
CC: And w)(ale you let me know what's inside?  
CC: I'd like to know w)(at made it t)(roug)( t)(e Crisis intact.  
TA: no worriie2, priince22, ii'll let you know riight away.  
\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] ceased trolling cuttlefishCuller  [CC] at 11:17 --

\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] began trolling centaursTesticle  [CT] at 11:18 --  
TA: yo EQ, need two talk two you.  
CT: D--> Yes what is it  
TA: 2o ii heard you found a databa2e, when were you goiing two tell me about iit?  
CT: D--> I mentioned it to the person to whom the database rightfully belongs  
CT: D--> What she did with the information is none of my concern  
CT: D--> And need I remind you that I do not answer to you  
TA: yeah yeah who give2 a fuck, there'2 2ome 2pec2 ii want two know beefore ii ju2t go iin there bliind.  
TA: ii mean yeah ii could go iin there bliind, but iit'2 better for everyone iif ii keep my eyesiight.  
CT: D--> Is it the John human  
TA: no, iit'2 my bulgeliickiing moiiraiil, ii'd never hear the end of iit from hiim iif ii let that happen agaiin.  
CT: D--> I w001d have had more respe% if it had been because of the highb100d human  
TA: human2 don't have blood ca2te2, and even iif they diid ii really don't giive a 2hiit about them.  
CT: D--> Says the lowb100d e% consort of Her E%cellency  
TA: can we move pa2t the 2liick iin2ult2 and onto an actual productiive thread of conver2atiion, FUCK.  
TA: ii need two know 2ome ba2iic2, thiing2 liike coordinate2, operatiing 2y2tem, e2tiimated 2iize, e2tiimated date of oriigiin, can ii piing iit from here, etc etc etc tiime'2 a wa2tiing.  
CT: D--> Coordinates are  
CT: D--> Timespace stamp 86753099 origin [ZnVjazJoaWl0,VOIDCALL] broadcast ???-ZnVjayBvZmY=  
CT: D--> Unfortunately my probe was too STRONG or I w001d have forced my way into port 22  
CT: D--> I mean  
CT: D--> That came out wrong  
CT: D--> Sugarcubes  
TA: 2ome kiind of 22h on remote, anythiing el2e?  
CT: D--> Ha% into network maps showed operating system to be a bastard spawn of Perl and Lisp  
TA: workiing wiith lii2p ii2 a dream, perl ii2 for grub2 who 2hiit hard iin theiir diiaper2.  
TA: any node2 ii 2hould bee lookiing for, any iintru2iion detectiion?  
CT: D--> These were the only spe% available to me  
CT: D--> I program robots, not databases  
CT: D--> Although I have seen this handiwork before  
CT: D--> I w001d consider it highly likely that your ancestor coded this system  
TA: FUCK YE2.  
TA: you ju2t made my niight.  
TA: ii'm goiing two 2et up a memo, come iin and explaiin everythiing and we'll get 2tarted.  
\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] ceased trolling centaursTesticle  [CT] at 11:31 --

UNIVERSITY ADMIN 2 months ago opened public bulletin board ABSU Compsci Club.  
twinArmageddons [TA] RIGHT NOW opened secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2 on board ABSU Compsci Club.  
TA RIGHT NOW invited  centaursTesticle [CT] to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TA RIGHT NOW invited  carcinoGeneticist [CG] to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
CT RIGHT NOW responded to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
CT: D--> Sh001d I repeat my e%position here  
TA RIGHT NOW invited  ectoBiologist [EB] to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TA: ju2t the relevant 2hiit, ii don't want thii2 memo clogged wiith two much bull2hiit.  
TA RIGHT NOW invited  tipsyGnostalgic [TG] to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
CG RIGHT NOW responded to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS.  
TA RIGHT NOW invited  timaeusTestified [TT] to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TA banned  CG from responding to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TA: the ban'2 temporary untiil EQ can explaiin hiim2elf.  
CT: D--> Are you finished inviting participants  
TA RIGHT NOW invited  gardenGnostic [GG] to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TA gave  CT administrator privileges in secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
CT RIGHT NOW invited  calibratingTorque [(Alternate) CT] to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TA: ii2 that all now.  
CT: D--> Yes  
TA revoked  CT administrator privileges in secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TA: roll call, biitche2.  
TA: pre2ent.  
ACT RIGHT NOW responded to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
ACT: 8=D < Present  
EB RIGHT NOW responded to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
EB: hey!  
TA: al2o 2peakiing for KK, who can't 2hut up long enough to accept that 2omeone el2e ii2 iin control for once.  
TT RIGHT NOW responded to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TT: Yo.  
CT: D--> Present  
GG RIGHT NOW responded to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
GG: hi!!  
TG RIGHT NOW responded to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TG: here  
TA: that'2 everyone, let'2 get 2tarted.  
TA: everybody 2hut the fuck up, keep your prong2 and nub2 fiirmly iin2iide the vehiicle at all tiime2 once the expo2iitiion expre22 ii2 iin motiion.  
TA: CC: --Equius just glubbed me.  
TA: CC: )(e said )(e found some kind of server?  
TA: CC: Some sort of database?  
TA: CT: D--> Coordinates are  
TA: CT: D--> Timespace stamp 86753099 origin [ZnVjazJoaWl0,VOIDCALL] broadcast ???-ZnVjayBvZmY=  
TA: CT: D--> Ha% into network maps showed operating system to be a bastard spawn of Perl and Lisp  
TA unbanned  CG from responding to secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TA: though2, anyone?  
TT: Whoever set up those coordinates is a real asshole.  
TG: ya theres no need 2 b rude  
ACT: 8=D < I am most intrigued by the VOIDCALL stamp  
GG: has anyone tried to ping it yet??  
CT: D--> The server most definitely e%ists  
EB: i think what she is trying to say is, maybe the VOIDCALL stamp means it is only visible to void players.  
CG: I COULD TRY TO PING IT.  
CT: D--> Port 22 is open but my a%ess attempt was too STRONG to reveal much  
TT: What's in here, anyway?  
TA: ii 2ucce22fully piinged iit, iit defiiniitely exii2t2.  
CT: D--> E%tensive information on Her Imperial Condescension's subje%, Sir  
TG: do u mean if we hax in here were messing w/ hic  
CG: ARE WE SO SURE THIS IS A GOOD IDEA?  
TT: That just makes me want to do it more.  
GG: it probably isnt D:  
TT: I hate that bitch.  
TG: who cares  
EB: maybe we should put this to a vote?  
EB: all those in favor of cracking the database?  
TA: fuck ye2.  
TG: he'll ya  
TT: I'm in, bro.  
EB: all those against?  
GG: nope sorry :(  
ACT: 8=D < Neigh  
EB: ... no one else is voting?  
CT: D--> I have been a%ed to infiltrate the database by order of Her Royal Highness, though I wish to e%press my opposition to the idea  
CG: I DON'T GIVE A SHIT EITHER WAY, I JUST DON'T WANT TO GET CULLED.  
EB: i don't know, guys, it sounds like it could be a lot of fun!  
TA: that 2ettle2 iit, riight?  
EB: it looks like five yes, two no, and one abstaining.  
TA: JD and H2 don't have two partiiciipate.  
TG: u kno what we shud do tho is hav a partay  
TG: lik a super specail haxxing exxtravaganxaaaaa  
TG: *special  
TA: ii'll re2erve the lab 2o we can get down two bu2iine22 twoniight.  
TG: whos bringin the drinxxx  
EB: drinks?  
CG: I CAN SEE WHERE SHE'S GOING WITH THIS.  
GG: it would make things more interesting thats for sure!!  
TT: Should I set up a pot?  
EB: how much to enter?  
TT: Well, there'll be five of us participating, so ten grand each?  
CG: WHAT THE FUCK, STRIDER, DO YOU THINK WE'RE MADE OF MONEY?  
TA: 2hoo2h, a22hole.  
EB: shoosh, karkat.  
TG: whats a lil harmless wager btw friends rite  
EB: we all have more money than we know what to do with.  
TA: he'2 ju2t 2en2iitiive becau2e he know2 he'2 goiing two lo2e.  
TG: n i spose u think ur gonna win?  
EB: hey now!  
TA: room re2erved for ten twoniight.  
EB: let's save the trash talk for later.  
TA: meetiing adjourned, 2ee you then.  
ACT left secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
GG: are we still welcome even if were not participating?  
CG left secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TA: all good game2 need a referee, 2o you'd better bee there.  
TT left secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
GG: :DDD  
TG: sol bby do u midn if i spam errybody l8r w/ rulez 4 our lil game  
TA: don't miind at all.  
TG: *mind  
GG left secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TA: ju2t make a new 2ecure memo.  
TG: go tit ;)  
CG left secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
CT left secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TG left secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
EB: last one out, get the lights!  
EB: hehe.  
EB left secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2.  
TA closed secure memo a22hole hackiing rumpu2 on board ABSU Compsci Club.

\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] began trolling ectoBiologist  [EB] at 12:09 --  
CG: REMEMBER THAT THING I SAID?  
CG: ABOUT NOT BEING A MOIRAIL TO SOMEONE WHO ALREADY HAS A MOIRAIL?  
EB: shit, did i do it again?  
CG: YOU JUST SHOOSHED ME IN THE MIDDLE OF A GROUP MEMO, SO YEAH, I'D SAY SO.  
EB: sorry!  
EB: i mean it.  
EB: it is just kind of hard to remember how many things you guys see as romantic.  
CG: THAT'S NOT EVEN THE RIGHT QUADRANT.  
EB: why are you so obsessed with quadrants and romance anyway?  
CG: WHAT, I'M NOT OBSESSED.  
CG: I AM DEFINITELY NOT OBSESSED.  
EB: you're obsessed.  
CG: I'M OBSESSED.  
CG: SO WHAT?  
CG: I THINK IT MIGHT BE AN ASPECT THING.  
CG: OR MAYBE EVEN A FRIENDLEADER THING.  
CG: I WAS THE SORRY BASTARD WHO HAD TO KEEP TRACK OF EVERYFUCKINGBODY AT ALL FUCKING TIMES.  
CG: BLOOD TIES AND THE HUMAN APHORISM THAT BLOOD RUNS THICKER THAN WATER AND ALL THAT.  
CG: BLOOD. RELATIONSHIPS. KNIGHT. PROTECTOR.  
EB: ... oh my god, you are right.  
EB: everything suddenly makes so much sense.  
CG: ARE YOU MOCKING ME, I'M NINETY PERCENT SURE YOU'RE MOCKING ME.  
EB: not this time, actually!  
EB: dave is like that with time management.  
EB: if you ever want to hash that out with someone, rose is probably your go to person!  
EB: she knows the most about the after effects of sburb.  
EB: or sgrub or whatever.  
CG: STOP TRYING TO MAKE THINGS BETTER.  
CG: I'M STILL MAD AT YOU.  
EB: i know.  
\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] ceased trolling ectoBiologist  [EB] at 12:18 --

UNIVERSITY ADMIN 2 months ago opened public bulletin board ABSU Compsci Club.  
tipsyGnostalgic [TG] RIGHT NOW opened secure memo drinkging agme rulez on board ABSU Compsci Club.  
TG revoked reply privileges from invitees to secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TG invited  timaeusTestified [TT] to secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TG invited  twinArmageddons [TA] to secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TG invited  ectoBiologist [EB] to secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TG invited  centaursTesticle [CT] to secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TG: *game already jeez  
TG invited  calibratingTorque [(Alternate) CT] to secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TG: *drinking fuck i type 2 fast  
ACT left secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TG invited  gardenGnostic [GG] to secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TG: well fine u dnt hav 2 come  
TG invited  carcinoGeneticist [CG] to secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TG: ok now evry1s here lets do this  
TG: rule no 1  
TG: jade is the ref and her calls are final  
TG: rule no 2  
TG: first 1 2 strip all files from the server encrypt and send via secure port to fef is the winnr  
TA gave  TA root administrator status in secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TG: friggin showoff  
TA RIGHT NOW responded to secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TA: all of u2 are goiing two bee beehiind a fiirewall emulator two keep thiing2 faiir.  
TA: you are allowed two do re2earch on the 2erver'2 propertiie2, you are not allowed two wriite any code beefore twoniight's hackiing 2e22iion.  
TG: what if sum1 wants 2 cheat  
TA: honor 2y2tem, a22hole2, plu2 JD wiill kiick your a22 iif 2he fiind2 you cheatiing.  
TA: ii'm 2orry, you were 2ayiing?  
TG permabanned  TA from responding to secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TG: as i was saying  
TG: im bringing beer no reason 2 waste good booze on haxxing  
TG: evry 10th line of code take a dirnk  
TG: if the server detects u take a drink  
TG: i wrote a program ur all gonna install  
TG: it makes a popup block evry1s screen randomly  
TG: the last person 2 close it take a drunk  
TG: plus evry 3 min we all have to take a drink  
TA unpermabanned  TA from responding to secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TG: omg sol u r suck an asshole  
TA: eheheheh.  
TG: i haet you so fukcging much  
TA: <3< you two, baybee.  
TG: ,n1m (ಠ益ಠ) m1n,  
TG left secure memo drinkging agme rulez.  
TA: pony up two 2triider beefore we beegiin, ii don't want two have two cha2e down any of you motherfucker2 for not payiing iin.  
TA pinned secure memo drinkging agme rulez on board ABSU Compsci Club.

Roxy is going to win this thing. It’s not even a question for her at this point: no one else can analyze a database like she can. She has a natural advantage, and she hasn’t had a challenge like this in a while, which makes it even more exciting. Plus, now there’s fifty thousand dollars on the line if she cracks this thing first.

She grins, cracks her knuckles, and gets to work on some recon.

One ping to the location gets an obvious response. The second ping and it’s like it’s not even there. She chalks it up to the VOIDCALL designation. Maybe the only reason she was able to find it in the first place was her Void aspect. Her grin morphs to a smirk, and she keeps working. Port 22 is open, just like Equius said, but there’s definitely a shell behind it—a strong one, too, by the looks of it, Roxy hasn’t seen a structure like that in a long time. She makes a note to come back to that later and moves on.

Hacking to win, too, is different from ordinary hacking. This isn’t something where she can take her sweet-ass time to get to the result—no, this is like chess. With keyboards and a lot of typing, and with a board that can sometimes electrocute you and keep you from winning. (This metaphor is getting out of hand. Roxy shakes her head, clearing out cluttered thoughts, and keeps scrolling through code.)

Given that Equius couldn’t brute-force SSH connectivity, he won’t go for that this evening. John, though, John’s one of those guys who would try that. (Hammer strife specibus, plus he’s endearingly easy to read.) Dirk will probably go for speed over anything else. Might team up with Equius, or Equius might end up servile to him anyway. (What was with that ‘Sir’ in the memo, anyway?) Karkat won’t win a hacking race—Sollux was right about that—but Roxy has to worry about him anyway. He’s more of a liability than an asset and he’ll probably get detected more than once.

Sollux, though… Roxy can’t get a good read on him, and that’s more important than anything else. While her fingers are busy putting together a simple pop-up annoyance program, her mind is whirring with possibilities. She fucking hates that dude. Well, not hates. That’s a bad word for it. As much as it disgusts her to contemplate, she might be falling into the quadrant system HIC tried to force on humanity. The ire she has for Sollux is nothing but black, a potent arch-rivalry that makes her want to grind his bones to dust and then keep his remains in a little vial strung around her neck.

Wait, what?

It doesn’t really matter, in the grand scheme of things. Roxy finishes the code, sets it to compile, and leans back in her computer chair to keep from working through the insistent whirr of her laptop’s fan. “Shh,” she whispers, petting the searing grill. “Shh, it’s okay.” Thankfully, it only takes a few minutes until she can get back to scanning the remote server for any weaknesses.

The one edge she might have on Sollux is that she actually knows what language she’s working with on the home system. What Equius called a combination of Perl and Lisp, she instantly pinged as Ruby. It’s a pretty little language, one Roxy’s nearly fluent in, and she’s looking forward to dusting it off and parading her skills around.

While she wins.

It is _on_.

\--

Sollux starts setting up the lab at 9. Everyone’s bringing in their own machines, but Sollux has already thoroughly disinfected all of them. More than once. More likely than not, they’re all running part of his clean-up program, one he leaves on flash drives if people come to him with programming problems. Yeah, it’s a virus. So what? It helps, and right now, it’ll keep everyone honest.

Maybe a quarter past, Roxy uploads her pop-up program to the ABSU Compsci Club board. If the admins knew what they were doing, they probably wouldn’t have been so keen to set up a cyberspace to advocate this kind of crime. It’s a huge solace to know that the secure memos really are secure—it’s a subroutine Sollux added to that particular board to keep ABSU staff from listening in. Because fuck those guys. They are absolutely no fun.

Karkat’s first to arrive, still wielding his piece-of-shit crabtop from when he was six. What a wriggler. He already has earbuds firmly jammed into his hear ducts, glaring at his moirail when Sollux even deigns to greet him. Asshole. Sollux punches him on the shoulder. Gently. More of a pap than anything else. Karkat still doesn’t smile, but he does soften. A little. (Guy seriously needs to unclench once in a while.)

When Dirk and Equius show up, they’re hand in hand, for one, and drenched in sweat, for another. Which is kind of weird for a minute, because Sollux was convinced that the troll’s excessive perspiration problem got fixed post-SGRUB, until he remembers that the two of them probably just came from practice. Still, couldn’t they at least take showers afterwards? Thinks the guy who can’t even remember the last time he spent more than two minutes under a faucet.

At half-past, John wanders in, cheerfully bearing Jade in what Sollux has come to understand is called a piggyback ride in human terms. It is certainly a ride Jade is taking on his back, but John isn’t an oinkbeast by any sense of the word. Jade is her usual cheerful self, chirping (that’s the only word Sollux can think of for how she talks) as she helps with setup so she can watch everything.

Meanwhile, John’s plugging in, making small talk, tousling Karkat’s hair, giving Equius a tentative fist bump and Dirk an apprehensive up-nod. Sollux is feeling a little left out—that is, until John nearly barrels him over in a strong-armed embrace, pushing his nose firmly into his temple while he kisses him on the cheek.

Sollux flushes gold and tries to ignore the tightening in his chest.

Roxy shows up with maybe two minutes to go, rocking a yellow-tinted pair of specs to help with the computer screen’s vicious backlighting. At first, Sollux doesn’t see any beer, but then Roxy just starts shuffling through what looks like a black hole and starts pulling out six-packs. That’s incredible. “Everybody remembers the rules, right?” she asks as she starts opening six beers for the first round.

“And everybody’s going to follow them,” Sollux says pointedly, looking straight at her. She winks back at him. Fucking winks. God, he wants to ruin her. “JD, your call on when we start.”

“Is everybody ready?” Sollux is as ready as he’ll ever be, husktop plugged into one of the CS department monitors. He gives Jade a nod. John flashes a thumbs up, Karkat cracks his knuckles (and a lot of other joints as well), and Dirk and Equius give each other a fistbump. Roxy’s last again, winking at Jade just as salaciously as she’d winked at him. “Okay… and, go!”

It sounds like a Gatling gun factory in the lab once Jade gives the go-ahead. Within three minutes, Sollux is halfway through his first beer, Roxy not far behind, and Jade’s already cracking open new ones for them. Dirk and Equius seem to be pairing up—since when is that fair? maybe they’ll split the winnings? Jade will have to decide—but Karkat’s striking out on his own, typing so hard Sollux knows for a fact his claws are denting the keys. Is it just him, or does Roxy know this database better than he does?

Doesn’t matter. Sollux doesn’t just want to win. He wants everyone else to lose. There is a distinct difference, and it entails utter humiliation. From the sound of things, John’s going straight for port 22 and trying to brute force his way in. Not worth it to trip him up—even though John doesn’t hold a grudge, would just find it a funny prank, it’s a waste of time. John’s already slowing himself down, and he doesn’t need Sollux’s help to ruin his chances.

Dirk and Equius have started arguing quietly over what script is going to work best. Meanwhile, Roxy lets out a little ‘ha!’ of victory as she finds a port she likes—Sollux would know that sound anywhere. Her nails make a distinctive clacking sound against her laptop keys as she works. Sollux, for his part, is trying a Lucky Thirteen attack against port 31314. (It’s a pretty number and an elegant solution, plus most everyone else is trying double- or triple-digit ports. Peons.)

“Holy shit,” Karkat mutters from right next to him. The fucking nub has no idea what he’s gotten himself into, that much is clear, because Sollux can see code reflected in his glassed-over eyes. It’s not easy to get into this port, especially since it’s running a protocol Sollux doesn’t recognize, but his Perl script is working easily enough to get past the authentication. And… if he were a movie villain, right about now is the part where he’d say “we’re in,” because would you look at that, the server is right there, clear as day, right in front of him. Time to lay some traps—honeypots. Sollux opens port 21, an easy first choice that’s usually left protected.

Karkat’s such a moron that he falls for it, and Sollux knows his plan worked when his ~ATH script results in the crabtop’s chips actually smoking as it tries to keep up with the internal logic. “Fuck this shit!” the little troll screams, angry enough that he takes a spare keyboard and throws it straight through the crabtop’s screen before he flips his chair and storms out of the room.

Sollux can see Roxy’s culling program running in the background, trying to separate the database in question from the rest of the superfluous data. What fucking language is that? Sollux isn’t familiar with it, but now it’s time to crack out some Lisp and open the changelogs. If he can make it look like Roxy’s tampering with the system…

John’s still working on cracking port 22. He’s going to be there for a while with his kiddie scripts. Dirk and Equius keep trying weird feinting moves against port 115, almost close enough for the server to recognize an unauthorized intrusion before backing off and trying a different script. Looks like they spent all that time just coming up with Plan B. And C, and D, and none of them are working. Of course not. Sollux closed that gate himself.

At this point, it’s just a battle between himself and Roxy. Occasionally Jade peers over his shoulder, but he doesn’t pay her too much heed—she’s not trying to cheat, just trying to make sure everybody’s playing by the rules. Is it just him, or is he suddenly kind of maybe a little (very) drunk? He never typos like this. And it’s loud in here. Holy shit. When did they get spectators? Fuck, John probably told—

Doesn’t matter doesn’t matter doesn’t matter Roxy’s almost done and the drunker she gets (is that even a word) the more effective her coding, and she’s extracting and finding a backdoor out and encrypting just to send it to her device and there’s a cackle like a wizard with a particularly effective spell when she finally gets the information out, deleted from the database, with no change showing in the logs.

Holy fucking shit, she is _good_.

“We have a winner, we have a winner!” Jade’s yelling, holding up Roxy’s arm like the girl just won a prize fight instead of a hacking race. John’s grinning from ear to ear, even though he lost, and he’s already getting up and hauling Roxy up on his broad shoulders (showing off all his muscles dear god that should be illegal) so she can perch above the worshiping crowd. Dirk does a dramatic glasses reveal, staring up at her like he’s seeing her for the first time. Equius is as inscrutable as ever behind his shades.

Sollux doesn’t want to believe it. “Move over, I have to see this,” and it’s all right there, right on her screen. Characters that keep dancing around as she uploads the database into Feferi’s secure files on the university’s hard drive space, a progress bar that fills up. The part of the database Sollux can see reads a little like

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

“What an asshole,” he snorts, rolling his eyes behind his Gunners. God, he loathes Roxy for getting there first, loathes her in all the right ways, and he messages her instantly and insistently.

\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] began trolling tipsyGnostalgic  [TG] at 23:44 --  
TA: ii hate you 2o fuckiing much riight now, you liittle biitch.  
TG: ya bby tlk dirty 2 me  
TA: fiir2t, JB ha2 two put you down.  
TA: excu2e your2elf, then me22age me.

“Wait, where are you—“ John says as Roxy leaps off his shoulders. “Not you too,” and he looks at Sollux and one of these days Sollux is actually going to punch him for looking so goddamn cute. Like a puppy when his owners have to leave.

“Thorry,” Sollux lisps, and he just hopes the little writhing motion at the front of his pants isn’t too noticeable when he bolts.

TA: where are you riight now.  
TG: girls room  
TG: didnt get vert far ehe  
TG: *very  
TA: tell me what you're doiing.  
TG: waiting 4 u 2 tlk more dutty  
TA: god ii loathe you.  
TA: how dare you get iin2iide beefore ii 2aiid 2o.  
TG: oh lala  
TA: don't toy wiith me, woman, we both know you're paiiliing your2elf iin a publiic re2troom wiithout any 2en2e of propriiety what2oever.  
TG: my shame gland is permabroke  
TG: oh doodily darn  
TA: that gett2 you hot, doe2n't iit.  
TA: the challenge of iit, hackiing iintwo 2omewhere no one el2e ha2 been.  
TA: don't thiink ii didn't notiice you 2hiiftiing iin your 2eat whiile the game wa2 on.  
TG: like you wer doin any better mithter  
TG: oh oh oh  
TA: tell me what you're doiing and ii miight reciiprocate.  
TG: shucks buster way to cut to the chase  
TG: you touchin yourself 2 then  
TA: one of the2e day2 we're goiing two have two actually cyber properly, not thii2 half-a22ed autoerotiic fondliing.  
TG: that means takin my time  
TG: which i dont have rn  
TG: ooh thats good  
TA: harder, ii want two hear how good iit ii2.  
TG: then u go faster 2 then  
TA: liike ii'm not alreadly goiing  
TA: FUCK  
TG: not yet  
TA: don't fuckiing toy wiith me, giirly.  
TG: i wanna run sum expeirments w u 1 a these days  
TG: see if ur snop crackly pops cn get me off  
TG: oh fuck solly i  
TA: go hard, want you two fiinii2h.  
TG: oh  
TG: oh fuck  
TG: ooooooooh fuck  
TA: 2hiit 2hiit 2HIIT 2HIIT  
TA: aGF0ZSB5b3U=  
TG: aGF0ZSB1IDIgPDM8  
TG: wonk  
TA: 2ame tiime next week?  
TG: wut abt john  
TA: what about hiim, iit'2 not exactly a clo2ed relatiion2hiip.  
TG: i cn live w that  
TG: ;)  
\-- tipsyGnostalgic  [TG] ceased pestering twinArmageddons  [TA] at 00:02 --

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all base64 can be translated at http://home.paulschou.net/tools/xlate/


	15. Chapter 15

The voices are quiet today. Sollux is always thankful for that. For personal reasons, mostly. Easier to function when he can focus on what he’s doing. Also means no terrorist attacks or plane crashes or anything. That’s always good.

Perhaps he should correct himself. The voices, plural, are quiet today. But there’s one on particular that’s still coming through—a thin, staticky scream stuck in the back of his mind. If it won’t come out, it’s someone close, or someone he actually knows. He stops typing, shoves his computer chair away from his desk, starts looking around the lab for anyone on the verge of collapse. Nobody he can see right now, but that doesn’t mean someone isn’t hiding in one of the study rooms.

Roxy peers at him from behind her Mac screen to survey him. “Problem?”

At first, Sollux just shakes his head. Not really. Not in this room, anyway, but the motion doesn’t dislodge the sensation. “Don’t know,” he says tersely. When he shakes his head, his ears orient to different corners of the room—wait, what was that? He kicks off the floor, wheels his chair closer to the door. A little louder. Someone he knows, then. Not good. It doesn’t sound like JB or KK, but that doesn’t mean it’s not cause for alarm.

“You try’na leave?” she asks him. “’Cause I’m always down for a break.” That waggling thing she’s doing with her eyebrows probably indicates a serious medical condition. She snaps her laptop closed, pulls out her Gunners, wraps the earpieces around her ears.

“Don’t.” She pouts. “Not like that.” Not now. He wouldn’t be able to focus anyway. It’s nice having someone vaguely in his black quadrant, but that doesn’t mean he wants to cyber-pail her at all possible times. “You got this,” he tells her. “I have to go.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Not you.” That’s just going to have to be good enough. He shouldn’t be walking off the job like this, but this is distracting enough that it needs taken care of. He grabs his backpack, starts out the door, and instantly the voice comes into sharper focus. Not so fuzzy, but still quiet. So he’s on the right path, then.

By the time he gets out of the building, he can identify the screaming as definitively male. Well, that narrows it down to half the people he knows. So helpful, and he rolls his eyes at the functions of his own mind when he steps into the autumn sunlight. The yellow star of this planet isn’t so bright as the one back home, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t squinting as he follows his instincts.

He barely pays attention to where he’s going, choosing instead to find the source of the signal. This is less a scream of the imminently deceased than it is a desperate cry for help, but that doesn’t mean the owner won’t be dead soon. Someone he knows, someone he knows. Who would be so close to dying right now?

When his sixth sense leads him to a building, he nearly walks into the door before he remembers what handles are for. He’s locked out, and for a few panicked seconds he jostles the door until he sees where he has to swipe in. He doesn’t even know what this building is—he rarely gets out of the engineering college, so that doesn’t mean much—but the building accepts his credentials easily. If he’d really needed to, he probably could have cracked his way in, but it’s getting harder and harder to focus, the louder and louder the voice gets.

Definitely not JB or KK. ED, maybe? This doesn’t seem like a place he’d be. There are so many other sounds filling Sollux’s ears right now, all of them melodic and structured, but the voice in his thinkpan is drowning out everything else. As he gets closer to the signal, it gets exponentially louder, until by the point he’s reached a set of stairs it’s threatening to deafen him completely.

One step up and it’s so loud it’s leaping out of his other senses to cloud his vision. A flight up and his pulse is pounding in his temples. By the time he gets to the third floor, the tip of his tongue is numb. Sollux feels drunk with it, reeling and keeping a hand on the wall so he can guide himself down this hallway. This floor is nothing but soundproof study rooms—so how can the signal come through so clearly? He’s heard this screaming before, too, but with his thoughts so scattered, Sollux can’t place where or when.

His hand slips. Finds a door handle. A sense of ‘thii2’ jolts through him, the electricity nearly physical, rolling through him like a wave of nausea. Before more migraine symptoms can rock his system, Sollux turns the handle, stumbles into the study room.

Everything is silent. The tingling feeling in his fingertips retreats. His vision clears.

Sollux is face to face with Dave Strider.

“Oh, you fucking idiot,” Sollux spits out, letting his backpack slip from his shoulders.

The human is still completely wired in—didn’t even notice him intruding. His headphones are securely over his ears, such good quality that Sollux can barely hear the garbage filtering through them. Across Dave’s shades, Sollux can see the mirror image of the computer program he’s working with. The parts not connected to his music look horrible, though—given how matted his hair is, the pallor on his face, it has to have been days since he last showered, at least 36 hours since he’s been outside. The sallow jut of his cheekbones, the paper-hollow of his face—when’s the last time he ate? His hands are shaking, like he’s overcaffeinated. This is why Sollux knew he recognized the voice. He’s heard it before, and only a few weeks ago. Porrim’s party. Shaking and pale and JB needed to steal back his breath from the air before he would live again.

Dave’s working himself to death.

And Sollux is fucking pissed.

He walks into the room. Pushes the headphones off the top of Dave’s head to rest around his throat—“what the,” Dave has time to say, before Sollux yanks at the bridge of his shades and exposes his eyes to fluorescent light. The knot that starts in his stomach at the sight of two beautiful red eyes has to wait, not just because Dave cried out reflexively when his protection was taken away but because he’s trying to tell Sollux to be careful with them. Just so Dave can’t get at them again, Sollux captchalogues them. Though this whole altercation has only taken the space of a few seconds, Sollux didn’t fail to notice the dance of Dave’s fingers across the keys—trying to save his work. Good. Then he won’t mind if Sollux flips his laptop closed.

At the end of it, Dave’s just staring up at him, bleary-eyed and wilting more with each passing second. “What the fuck do you want?” he manages to croak out.

“I could hear you,” Sollux explains.

“What, like on campus radio?” Even exhausted and worked to the bone, Strider still has to snark him back. What is it with blondes and his black quadrant? “I’m a pretty popular guy—“

“No. Shut up.” Before he can really stop it, even register that it’s happening, there are red and blue crackles around Strider’s face, wrapping around his mouth and fitting between his teeth like a cleave gag. It’s not just that he stops talking, it’s that his eyes flutter shut; the blond in his eyelashes catches the last of the sunlight that filters in through the tiny window. “I could _hear_ you, asshole. Screaming. You’re _still_ screaming. And you were so fucking loud that I heard you in the Helmsman’s Building. _Across campus_.” Sollux snaps his fingers; the psionics fall. “Care to explain yourself?”

Dave’s hand comes up to idly touch his lips. Buzzing, then. Sollux knows from experience. “I,” he tries to say at first, but he just ends up coughing for a few seconds. Probably about to die from starvation, but dehydration is a close second. “I need to finish—“

“Not so badly that you’re about to die, _fuck!_ ” How stupid does Strider think he is? “Nothing is that important that you can just kill yourself for it.”

Strider shrugs. Just… shrugs. “Not like I won’t come back.”

“You’re so selfish.” Okay, that one seems to actually sting. Dave whimpers like Sollux kicked him in the chest instead of saying three little words; when he looks up at the troll, his eyes are glassy. “You think this only affects you? What if I told JB what you were doing?”

“Don’t,” comes out clearly. Panicked. Good. Sollux is getting to him. “Don’t tell him.”

“Why? Because he’ll make you take care of yourself?”

“No, because he’ll fucking _dad_ me while he does it. I’m not a child.”

“Could have fooled me,” Sollux spits out, “you’re acting like a wriggler. No, sit down.” Dave was trying to stand, but with how much he’s screaming in Sollux’s head right now, he would have just collapsed on trying. To keep him from an attempt, the psionics come out again, circling round his wrists—one red, one blue—to pin them to the work table. “You can’t strife me right now. I’d kill you.”

“Like to see you try,” Dave slurs. The more he fights this, the weaker he gets.

“I’d do it,” Sollux threatens, “but then I’d have my own explaining to do. Especially to your kismesis.” As it is, he already has some explaining to do, but like hell is he going to let this kid _die_.

“My what?” is the only intelligent reply Strider has left in him.

With Dave pinned to the chair, Sollux starts rummaging through his own backpack, pulling out water. A sports drink. A few hard-boiled eggs he took for his own dinner at the computer lab tonight. He can get food later. Dave can’t. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. You’ve been pailing my roommate since classes started.” His S’s are starting to come out a little whistle-y. Needs to check his stress level. He breathes in, out, slow, through his nose. His nostrils flare.

Dave’s stopped struggling as much, or at least Sollux can’t hear as much rustling of clothes and frustrated grunting. When Sollux finally looks up from his task, the human looks close to passing out. Actually dying, for fuck’s sake. “How did you know?” comes out in a rasp.

“Give me at least a little credit.” Sollux starts unscrewing bottle caps. “I live with the guy. He’s my moirail. I notice if he so much as sniffles murderously.” Cracks his hard-boiled eggs on a paper towel, then throws away the shells. Not supposed to leave food garbage in the practice rooms, but someone’s already filled this trash can with the husks of fallen energy drinks. Kinda wishes it were Strider’s head he’s cracking open instead, but he’ll make do. “When’s the last time you ate?” Sollux knows this routine well. KK used to walk him through it when he was five. Six. Even seven, when they were still getting adjusted to Earth.

“Don’t need to eat,” Strider says petulantly, “I’m a god.”

“And gods need to fucking eat.” Would he had four hands, or he could actually attempt a highly dangerous x2 facepalm combo while he’s trying to hand-feed this wriggler. “Water first.” Sollux puts his palm on Strider’s forehead, although he can’t tell if the heat he can feel is normal for humans or not. At least Dave obediently keeps his mouth open. It’s weird being on the other end of this—usually Sollux is the one getting revived from going on a work binge. Being around Strider when he’s like this is probably going to trigger a relapse.

Dave takes two mouthfuls of water, then presses his head harder against Sollux’s hand. Too much all at once, he’ll choke him. Can’t use his hands to push him away—still crackle-bound to the table. This time, when he speaks, he doesn’t sound so ghastly. “How’d you know it was me, I mean.”

“Intuition.” Well, sort of. There are too many coincidences for it to be anyone else. The way they used to bicker on the meteor all those sweeps ago. The natural class affinity. Why KK was pushing him to court JB into his flushed quadrant. It all adds up, and Sollux already accepted it as a foregone conclusion before Strider’s indirect admission. “He gets so _calm_ , it’s eerie. Knew somebody was fucking him, just had to narrow it down to the people who are good enough to touch him.” So he’s protective of his moirail. So what? That’s normal.

Dave looks like he’s about to ask a question. Sollux floods his mouth with water again. When Dave swallows, Sollux just forces him to drink more. Not too fast or he’ll puke, but he’s doing good. With something forcing him to stay still, Dave’s a lot more docile than Sollux expected. Once Sollux lets him talk, he sounds a lot better. Maybe even fully human. “Why didn’t you just let me die?”

“Are you kidding me? I have two very good reasons: a hammer and a pair of sickles.”

“Do I look like Karl Marx to you?”

“Karl who?” Sollux breaks off a white bit of egg, shoves it in Strider’s mouth. The human tries to bite his fingers, but he can’t force his jaws together hard enough for his stupid blunt incisors to break skin. He does leave a mark, a little grooved indent, but Sollux just looks at it and shrugs. “KK’s not a great kismesis for letting you do this to yourself, but he’d lose it if you were out of commission. Same with your moirail.”

“Dude.” Dave looks up at him; his eyes are a little brighter. Sollux gets another bite of egg in his mouth and Dave just swallows it whole in his impatience to speak. “Egbert and me? Not trolls. We don’t do your little quadrant song and dance mental gymnastics bullshit.”

“Call it whatever you want,” Sollux says dismissively, this time sticking the rest of the hard-boiled egg in Dave’s ignorance funnel, “I just know I’d get bitched at. JB probably already knows I’m not at work and wants to know why.”

“How?”

“My phone’s been vibrating and RX tells him everything.” Which should weird Sollux out, but it’s nice that the people edging into his concupiscent quadrants get along. “Drink,” he says again, this time going for the sports drink once he’s sure Dave’s chewed his food. “Either you tell him, or I will.” It’s not an idle threat, either. He has less than no reason to lie to JB, and he _should_ be worried that his moirail almost died. Again. For the second time in a few weeks. While he goes to check his phone, he intentionally lets the psionics slip, but Dave still rests his wrists against the desk. “Point is, you’re not dying today.” Not on Sollux’s watch.

“I’m eating this,” Dave announces, reaching for the other hard-boiled egg. At least he has an appetite. He starts chugging down the sports drink so fast he almost retches, though. Fucking idiot. “How’d you even?”

Sollux shrugs, scrolling through his texts. “KK used to do it for me, I used to do what you did. Work myself to death, go on weeks-long coding binges. One time I locked myself in my hive for half an apogee, KK broke in through a window.” Good times. Some days, he really misses home. “I have to get back to work, you go back to your ‘coon and sleep. When’s the last time you slept, shit, you look like behemoth leavings.”

Dave looks at the ceiling as if he’s trying to calculate. “Sunday?” he says eventually, like he’s not even sure.

“It’s Thursday.” Human day names are strange, but at least the cultures shared a week structure. “And no, you are not hallucinating this. Finish that. Then—“ He reflexively wants to say ‘get iin 2ome 2opor’ like KK would do, but that planet is dead and gone. “Go home,” he settles for. As a parting gift, he decaptchalogues the shades.

The human grabs for them immediately. “Fuck, don’t break them!”

“Medical?” Sollux understands weird eyewear. He’s the asshole who wore two different colored lenses in his glasses when he was younger. He’s still that asshole that wears major-league gaming glasses for more than just his computer.

“Nah,” Dave says dismissively, but he carefully puts them back on his face, like he’s afraid he’ll smudge the lenses or something. “Just a gift from John. I don’t wanna break them.”

That’s the first time Sollux has heard him use his roommate’s given name. Either this is some major personal development, or Strider is delirious. Probably a healthy dose of both, seeing as his accent’s been in full swing for this entire encounter. “Can you even get home?” When Dave stands, he’s wobbly as hell.

“I’ll be fine.” He never drinks, but he looks so drunk right now, fumbling to put his laptop away. Fuck it. He’s still functional. Sollux’s job here is done—and now he has to answer some insistent text messages.

\-- ectoBiologist  [EB] began pestering twinArmageddons  [TA] at 17:13 --  
EB: hey!  
EB: sollux?  
EB: are you there?  
\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] is now an idle chum! --  
EB: sollux, are you okay?  
EB: roxy said you were leaving.  
EB: are you having another migraine?  
EB: solluxander captor, you answer me right this instant!  
TA: jegu2 JB, no rea2on two u2e my full name for 2omethiing a2 iin2iigniifiicant a2 thii2.  
EB: are you okay?  
EB: you never leave work.  
TA: remember when ii told you about the voiice2?  
EB: oh no.  
EB: shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit.  
EB: was it anyone we know?  
TA: do you really want me two an2wer that que2tiion?  
EB: YES, dammit!  
TA: iit wa2 DV.  
EB: holy fuck.  
EB: this is.  
EB: is he.  
EB: i mean.  
EB: he's not.  
EB: ...  
EB: is he?  
EB: sol, fuck, please.  
TA: ii'm 2endiing hiim two your room, he wa2 iin bad 2hape but ii thiink he'2 goiing two make iit.  
EB: shit, sol, don't worry me like that!  
EB: but i mean...  
EB: he... he wasn't.  
EB: when you found him.  
EB: ... right?  
TA: no, but only ju2t.  
TA: he'2 deliiriiou2, dehydrated, and probably 2tarviing two.  
TA: my job here ii2 done, tag you're iit.  
EB: sign.  
EB: i don't mind taking care of him!  
EB: i just wish he would take better care of himself.  
TA: tell hiim that two hii2 face and he miight remember iit for next tiime.  
TA: he 2eems two actually re2pect what you have two 2ay.  
EB: oh, trust me, we'll be having a long talk after i'm sure he's all right.  
TA: that 2ounds omiinou2, 2o ii'm not goiing two follow up wiith a what do you mean que2tiion when ii won't liike the an2wer.  
TA: ii have two go, ii'm iin my own room and KK'2 actiing weiird.  
EB: which is different from normal how, exactly?  
TA: take care of DV.  
\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] ceased trolling ectoBiologist  [EB] at 19:38 --

Sollux has to get off the phone quickly, because the minute he steps into his room, he’s afraid his moirail is going to kill him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Karkat erupts with first.

“Did JB tell you I wasn’t at work, because it was a false alarm—“

“No, I’m talking about you turning ashen on Strider and trying to auspistize between us!”

Sollux stops dead in his tracks. “What.”

“What part of moirail do you not understand?” Karkat keeps ranting. Sollux closes the door behind him so no one can overhear this from the hallway. Thank goodness for concrete brick walls in the dormitories. “Moirail means you keep me from doing the _exact shit I’m doing right now_. You know exactly what flips my turds by now—“

“Shoosh,” Sollux says idly, setting his bag down and reaching for his laptop.

“If you shoosh me one more goddamn time without actually listening to the words that are coming out of my mouth, I will personally insert my shoe into your excrement chute with such force and velocity that your descendants will be digging it out.” When he tries to catch his breath between sentences as he’s ranting like this, he puffs up like a spikefish and his hair stands on end. “You,” he says accusatively, “are going outside the quadrants. You are my moirail. You are _not_ my auspistice. I don’t _need_ one to deal with Strider—“

“Thanks for confirming that, by the way,” Sollux says idly, logging in once his laptop boots.

Karkat makes a sound that’s an awful lot like someone stepped on his throat, this weird gurgled growl-scream. He’s going to lose his voice like this. So long as he’s ranting, Sollux isn’t about to stop him. “So what if I have a human in my black quadrant? So do you. The point is, he’s _my_ kismesis. Mine. And you are my moirail. _Mine._ Ro-man-tic re-la-tion-ship,” he says slowly, like he needs to parse this out for a fellow troll. “And your job is _not_ to make sure my kismeshit stays alive.”

“So you would have preferred it if he died?”

“Yes!” Karkat explodes. “Wait. No. That’s not my point. My point is,” he says, never stopping on his Rant Express, “that is not your job. You are already in a quadrant with me. And that one’s verging awful close to human friendship as it is. _Ro-man-tic_ ,” he says again, like Sollux and not Mituna is the one suffering from psionically-induced brain damage. “I don’t care that you saved his life. That’s _my_ job. _I_ am in control of whether he lives or dies. _Not_ you. _You_ , on the other hand, are in control of whether or not I fucking kill myself with an embolism or a fucking clot in my thinkpan. Liu koushui de biaozi he houzi de ben erzi, do I have to spell out everything for you?”

“Sometimes,” Sollux mutters, “I think you decided to major in linguistics just to learn every single human language you could and cuss fluently and colorfully in every single one.”

Karkat doesn’t even pause, just continues steamrollering him down with his words. “You would have been culled back on Alternia for fucking up the simplest quadrants like this.” Says the troll with a hemochrome mutation. “I can understand vacillation between pitch and flushed. I can even understand vacillation between pitch and pale, Troll Jesus knows Dave and John do that enough. Maybe between flushed and pale, but that’s pushing it. But fucking—I’ve never heard of vacillating between ashen and pale. What the fuck,” he says again, “is wrong with you?”

Sollux just shrugs. “Must be a binary thing.” It makes total sense to him to have his roommate in two quadrants at once, just like his relationship with JB is straddling flushed and pale in that weird human precursor to a committed romantic relationship. The most important relationships in his life are always blurring the lines, or two in one.

“You,” Karkat says low in his throat, “are a freak of nature.”

That’s it. “Just like you,” Sollux purrs back, but with no affection intended.

The tension in the room snaps. Karkat lunges forward, already reaching for his strife specibus, but Sollux is taller, more limber, and he’s already twisting to face his roommate by the time he has a sickle in hand. A shuriken isn’t much to threaten with, but Sollux still gets the point of one against the sensitive skin under Karkat’s jaw, pushing him back towards his sleep slat. Some pushing and shoving later, both of them snarling like alley cats, and Sollux is pushing Karkat back on the bed, still with the point of a throwing star against a sensitive spot. The one advantage of being nearly a foot taller than his roommate is that it’s easier to just stretch out and pin Karkat down until he’s done having his fucking tantrum.

Karkat’s still growling, claws out, hackles raised, his sickle wedged into his shitty dorm camp pallet of a mattress. The only way to calm him down once he’s worked himself up, Sollux has learned from experience, is to dig both of his bony knees into the smaller troll’s stomach, bodily take his wrists and pin them next to his head, and try to pin down his ankles with psionics. Karkat’s still kicking and screaming, so it’s hard for Sollux right now to reach out with his mind without actually hurting his roommate, but he’s trying, he’s trying so hard, why does everyone need his help tonight?

Finally, Sollux has Karkat completely immobile, the only sound coming from his throat a reedy whine like an oboe being dragged through a place woodwinds should not be dragged. “Are you done?” Karkat doesn’t nod, but he doesn’t shake his head, either. “Because I’m starting to get a migraine from DV’s shenanigans, I gave him my dinner which means I haven’t eaten, and his shitty attitude might be triggering a relapse from me. Of all the people’s shit I do not need right now, yours is pretty high on that list. So shoosh, motherfucker. Shoosh.”

Even Karkat’s whining stops. His kicking subsides as he lets the psionics take hold of his legs. As the fit passes, he starts staring up at Sollux like he’s seeing his moirail for the first time. “I’m a piece of shit, aren’t I.”

“Pretty much the worst kismesis and the worst moirail ever,” Sollux affirms. He’s so tired. Tired and hungry. And maybe he wants to be the one in this relationship that gets shooshed every once in a while. “Are you done calling me a freak?”

“Yes,” Karkat grumbles, but he’s much meeker than when Sollux first walked in the door. “I’m sorry.”

Karkat rarely apologizes. Sollux immediately lets up on the psionics, moves his knees so he’s more straddling Karkat’s waist. When he loosens his grip on Karkat’s wrists, the other troll just threads their fingers together instead. Karkat even raises his head from the platform to headbutt Sollux gently, pressing their foreheads together. “Sorry too,” he says, just barely lisping.

“You’re hungry?” Sollux nods, still not moving away from the soothing heat of Karkat’s forehead against his own. “I’ll make you dinner.”

“Not that curry shit you like,” Sollux demands.“Something sweet. That sticky kernel stuff.”

When Karkat shifts, Sollux doesn’t protest as he’s rolled onto his back. Karkat glitches the scythe back into his strife deck effortlessly, then palms the shuriken, too, when Sollux doesn’t immediately claim it. “You’re so much fucking work sometimes,” he mutters under his breath.

“Pale for you too, dumbass,” he gets in before Karkat leaves. That was among their stupider fights. How Karkat can accuse him of vacillating with a straight face is beyond Sollux’s comprehension—what a hypocrite. He’ll never realize it, though. Sollux heaves himself up from the bed with a heavy sigh. “Tell me why I like him, again?” he asks the empty room.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and then i updated

Room 312 of Abraxas Hall is starting to feel like a second home to John, but that doesn’t mean he feels welcome here. He still knocks when he wants to visit, still asks ahead most times, but he just got back to campus from the res and hasn’t had the time to message. When he raps at the door, his hand is shaking. Is anyone home?

Apparently, because from the other side of the door he can hear nattering in a language that sounds like it was made for mandibles. Definitely Alternian. And then it morphs into something else entirely—is that Spanish? Italian? Doesn’t really matter, because soon enough, Karkat answers the door. “Oh,” he says stupidly to John’s hulking figure in his doorway, “it’s you.”

“Yeah, I guess.” John shrugs.

Karkat brings up the heels of his hands to rub at his eyes. Was he sleeping before John knocked? “Sollux isn’t here,” he mumbles, using his elbow to start closing the door.

“I know,” John says quickly, slapping his hand to the door to keep Karkat from shutting him out. “I actually came to see you.”

The troll stops in the middle of his motions, dropping his hands to stare up unabashedly into John’s face. “Motherfucking miracles,” he bites off sarcastically as the door swings open. “Give me a second to go buy a lottery ticket and get struck by lightning.”

“Are you mad at me?” Sometimes, John still can’t tell where Karkat’s natural inclinations end and his personal animosity begins. And it’s a legitimate question. The last few times John actually got a chance to talk to him, it was over Pesterchum, and Karkat had yelled at him—more than usual, anyway—about misinterpreting troll social cues and getting in the middle of relationships he doesn’t even see, let alone understand.

“That depends,” Karkat says through a yawn. “Are you still being a giant fucking genitalia?”

“I’m sorry!” At this point, John doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for, but he can nearly taste the tantrum that’s about to get unleashed on him. “I know we haven’t had, you know. A bulge-bump or anything lately, because I haven’t had time—“

“You haven’t made time,” Karkat interrupts him.

“I’m making time right now,” John says right back. “Look, I have movies and everything!” That’s a common activity both of them like, right?

For a minute, it looks like Karkat isn’t springing for it. Then he sighs, his shoulders sagging, and retreats back into his room. Small victory. “Stop trying to make things better,” the troll grumbles half-heartedly.

John just lets himself in, shutting the door behind him. “I just don’t want you to feel like you’re being left out.” He only started noticing this tension once he started getting closer with Sollux. Why did everything have to get so snarled? “I don’t… ugh. I don’t want to feel like I have to _choose_ between spending time with him and spending time with you. I’m still friends with you.” Right?

Karkat does the same thing John does when he’s agitated, runs his hand through his hair and makes it stick straight on end. He lets out a huff, his nostrils flaring, and then he deflates entirely. “Fine,” he drawls out. “Whaddaya got for me, Egbert.”

That’s… not his usual diction. In fact, that sounds more like Dave than anyone else… Whatever. Karkat’s still sleepy, so he gets a pass. “27 Dresses?” John asks him, pulling out the DVDs as he speaks. “Or The Princess Bride?”

Karkat just blinks at him. “Which one do you think I’ll prefer?”

“No, I mean,” John says through a smile, “which one do you want to watch _first_.”

“Why are you making it hard to hate you,” Karkat complains half-heartedly, even as he takes 27 Dresses from John’s hand and starts messing with the DVD player.

“You still hate me?” John thought the two of them had moved past this when they were thirteen.

“Yes. I mean,” Karkat catches himself, “no, but yes—not in a fucking romantic way, you festering seedflap, just in that—what’s so funny?”

John was just trying to smooth over Karkat’s sheets to make a better viewing platform for the movie; he hadn’t even noticed he was laughing. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” It’s kind of adorable, is what it is, in that misguided way. “Just start the movie.”

By the time Karkat hits play, John’s already climbed onto Karkat’s mattress, back to the headboard-wall and legs stretched out in front of him. The troll flops on to join him, half-heartedly shoving him a little bit to make room for himself. It just means Karkat is tucked under his arm, leaning into his side.

John should probably feel ashamed for even knowing about this movie in the first place. It’s a chick flick, first of all, a movie about weddings and sisters and stuff, but it’s exactly the kind of film Karkat would pick for himself. Then, too, this doesn’t have Liv Tyler in it. Katherine Heigl is still very pretty in that classical way, though.

Karkat still seems bewildered, though. “What is this?” he asks in the middle of the first scene.

“What do you mean?” Nothing’s particularly confusing yet.

“This. The event. What is it?”

“Ohhh.” Right. Trolls. They probably don’t have a concept like marriage for their quadrants. They definitely don’t do monoamorous relationships. “It’s a wedding. And it’s… well, it’s important, I guess? Because humans only have the one quadrant, right, and it’s also a big deal when you find someone you want to spend the rest of your life with. So this makes that relationship formal and permanent and stuff.”

John can hear, more than see, Karkat frowning at that explanation. “What’s so permanent about it?”

“Um…” It’s not that these are particularly hard questions, it’s that John has to basically translate the ideals of the culture he grew up with for someone who is, literally, alien to it. “They make a promise in front of all these people, and they give each other rings to wear, and then after this they’ll go and sign a piece of paper that makes it into a legal contract. Sometimes the girl will change her name.”

“That’s it?” Karkat erupts. “That’s fucking it? Really? All you have is this little party and suddenly everything changes? How can people even tell if anything’s changed if all you have is a piddly-ass piece of jewelry? It’s only a souvenir, whoop de fucking doo. What the fuck is this weak-ass bullshit?”

As much as John hates it when people talk over movies, this time he’s actually lenient. Mostly because it’s nice to hear a good old-fashioned Karkat rant directed at something other than him. They’re talking again, which is important, and John’s learning, which is also a good thing. “Let me guess, trolls have this, only better.”

“We have the—the marriage thing,” and the way he says it sounds like there’s something unpleasant on his tongue he wants to spit out. “Not just with flushed romance, either. With all of it. And yeah, there’s promises and everything, but it’s—it’s private, no one wants to see the two or three of you—”

“Three of you?” John interrupts.

“Yeah, three. Ashen. Keep up,” Karkat rambles on. “No one wants to see that shit, all the goopy-eyed mooning looks. It’s disgusting. No one else even needs to be there. It’s just the few of you and a branding iron—”

John balks. “What the hell do you even do with that?”

Karkat looks about to blow up, but instead, he takes in a long breath through his nose and whistles it out between his teeth. Good. John’s not going to die today. “Trolls have a commitment ceremony too, shitweasel. Rings just aren’t permanent enough. Scars last a fuck of a lot longer.”

“Holy crap.” That’s scary—and yet also makes total sense. “Did they do that in Beforan culture too?”

“No idea. Maybe they just had these sickeningly frothy ceremonies.” It trails off into a grumble. When Karkat shifts to make himself more comfortable, he just burrows further into John’s side.

John’s not about to argue with his logic; instead, he just puts his arm around the troll’s shoulders. “Sorry, the whole movie’s like this. Sorta.”

Katherine Heigl’s character says good night to a man she shared a taxi ride with. “I think I recognize this,” Karkat admits. “We have—had—a movie like this.” John doesn’t miss the correction of verb tense in the middle of the sentence, and a twinge of guilt runs through him, just like it always does when the trolls talk about their missing home planets. “It was something like—what’s the title—In Which An Oliveblood With A Noted Ashen Affiliation Nurses An Inappropriate Flushed Crush For A High-Ranking Blueblood Who Is Her Obvious Superior, The Oliveblood Introducing Her Limeblood Pale Affiliate To The Blueblood Flushed Crush Who Immediately Flushes For The Limeblood, With The Introduction Of A Tealblood Who Refuses To Believe In Ritual Scarification As A Relationship Solidifier And Proceeds To Black Flirt With The Oliveblood Until The Oliveblood Sabotages The Flushed Relationship Between The Blueblood And The Limeblood, And The Blueblood Attempts To Flushed Woo The Oliveblood Who Instead Chooses To Pursue A Black Relationship With The Tealblood; Includes Several Cullable Offenses, Hemocrossed Romance, And A Rapidly Vacillating Relationship; Most Appropriate For Those Six Sweeps And Older.”

“To be honest, I zoned out about halfway through what you were saying, but that sounds awesome.” John’s wishing he brought popcorn, just as much for Karkat’s entertaining-as-hell speeches as for the film itself. “How can you even remember that much?”

Karkat shrugs. His shoulder digs into John’s ribs, but John doesn’t mind so much. “Those kinds of movies were kind of my thing.”

“So you’ll probably like this one!” John got something right. It feels good to get this right.

The longer the movie goes, the more relaxed Karkat gets. It’s hard to tell from his language, because he always sounds so animated like this, but at least he’s excited and not sullen; his rage is more of a conspiratorial ‘can you fucking believe this shit’ rather than ‘I hate this and therefore you for subjecting me to it.’ He starts getting quiet towards the end, though, and from what John can see out of the corner of his eye, he has his hand to his face, covering his mouth. Sometimes he chews on his fingers, other times he bites down on the ball of his hand, but then he has his lip between his teeth.

It’s not until Katherine Heigl’s character says that line about ‘fighting with you is the best thing that’s ever happened to me’ that John notices something is wrong. Karkat sniffles, then lets out a shaky breath, one that John can feel in his own chest. When he looks down—“hey, are you crying?”

“I’m not crying!” Karkat lies, wiping his eyes with his sleeve and sniffing again.

“You’re crying—here,” and John doesn’t even think twice, just reaches for Karkat’s face and smears away the worst of it with the pad of his thumb. He looks like a mess, but that’s just so _him_ , welling up at a romcom like this and then yelling at anyone who notices. It’s adorable, is what it is, and a fierce sort of protectiveness rises in John’s chest. He never, ever wants to see this bastard cry again from anything other than a shitty movie.

Karkat gets it together by the time the two leads share their poignant on-screen kiss. “Fine,” he grumbles. “I was crying. Shut the fuck up about it, okay? Nobody else needs to know.”

“Nope,” John agrees—mostly because now he knows the most embarrassing thing ever about this guy. He wouldn’t want other people to know if it was him, and he’s good at keeping secrets if he wants to, but just in case Karkat starts acting up in the future, John now has something that will shut him up pretty effectively.

For now, John hugs him around the shoulders, and Karkat gladly leans into him. Once the credits start rolling, the troll makes a strange, noncommittal humming sound. “Should have stayed black.”

“Hm?” John’s a little distracted. There’s something he’s wanted to say for a long time and he’s trying to figure out a way to say it.

“The couple. At the end. Who were about to get weddinged.”

“Married,” John corrects him.

“They should have stayed black,” Karkat explains himself. “No more human bullshit of throwing it all into one massive unhappy fuckballed quadrant.”

“Hey,” John says, “I don’t exactly agree with the whole marriage thing, but you don’t have to say it like that.”

Karkat glares up at him from around the region of his armpit. “What’s wrong with,” he starts the sentence, and the last word has to be Alternian, because it’s something John can’t even parse out in his head, let alone pronounce or spell. From context, it has to be that troll equivalent Karkat was talking about earlier.

It’s a question, and it puts John on the spot. “I’m not saying there’s something wrong with it,” he backpedals, “just that—I don’t know. It’s not the whole rest-of-your-life thing, it’s that it’s just one person. Just one person you love, or pity or hate or whatever. Like after that there’s no room for anybody else.”

“Oh,” is all Karkat says to that. Then, like he never lost steam, “This is why we are so much better than you. Categorically. As a race. We’re more highly evolved than you moronic wastes of skin, because we figured out how to do the math to make room for everyone and get them to do their imperial duties at the same time.”

This. John struck a nerve. This is what’s been bothering Karkat. “Except in the human system, you can still make room for people. It doesn’t necessarily have to be romantic for it to be important.”

Karkat frowns so loudly John swears he can hear it. “Are you trying to explain human friendship to me?”

“I guess? Sort of. I don’t know.” John’s not good at relationships or emotions or anything. He’s just a guy. Just a guy with a lot of people who mean a lot to him, and he’d hate to have to categorize those relationships into neat little boxes like trolls or have to pick only one that matters the most under the human system. “We’re friends. Human friendship friends. You and me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re a shitty friend,” Karkat grumbles.

“Okay, that hurts.” John’s not kidding. He can actually feel the heat of those words settling into his chest. “Because you’re pretty much my best friend. I mean it,” he emphasizes when Karkat opens his mouth like he’s about to interrupt. “And it’s my fault we haven’t been able to hang out for, like, a month. Or if I did, it was with Sollux and not just you and me. I don’t want you to feel left out—and I don’t want to feel like I have to choose between you and him. Or between you and Dave. He’s my best friend too. I have more than one. But it’s just,” and now that the words have started tumbling out of him John’s not quite sure how to make them stop, all his breath behind every syllable, “all of you matter to me. So much. And I don’t want to mess any of this up or make you mad or lose you as a friend.”

It’s all flowed so easily from him, the jumble of sounds on the exhale, because he’s been thinking it for a long time. John genuinely has no idea what he would do if Karkat walked out of his life right now. Who else would call him an idiot and then brutally educate him about an alien culture? Who else would watch these awful movies with him? “Then I must be the shitty friend,” Karkat says quietly at the end of that rant, like one of them had to assume that role and John just ruled himself out.

“No,” John says, “no, no, not at all—you’re a good friend, the best friendleader. It’s you. I’m serious. Remember when you said you made the stars for me?”

Karkat’s eyebrows scrunch up. “I don’t remember a nookblistered fuck of the sort.”

“No, I definitely remember you said you made the stars for me. You made this whole universe for me.” That’s still stuck with John, all those years later. Maybe because in the snarled timeline of their lives, that was the first time he ever talked with the troll who would end up being so important to him, but it was also an awe-inspiring thing to think about.

“Are you off your sponge-wringing sitspheres?” Karkat’s definitely agitated if he’s using Alternian descriptors instead of at least attempting to sink to John’s level.

John just shrugs. “I still have the pesterlog, if you want me to look for it.”

“Don’t remind me,” Karkat groans, slapping his hand to his forehead in a magnificent facepalm. “If there’s anything I know as a platitude and a truism, it’s that past me was an abhorrent column of smarmy filth.”

John reaches out to pull Karkat’s hand away from his face. His fingers close around Karkat’s wrist, and his fingertips find a pulse point, and he forgets to retreat back to his own personal space. “Karkat, that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” If that doesn’t prove he’s a good friend, John doesn’t know what will.

“Oh,” comes out of Karkat’s mouth, more of a surprised exhale than a vowel sound.

“I mean, think about it,” John says, trying to hammer this point home. “Your best friend says he made an entire universe, just for you. That’s incredible.”

“Shut up.” There’s no bite behind it, though.

“I can do that.” By God can he ever do that. Mostly because he realized there’s something else he can do with his mouth, besides talking, that will reassure Karkat that he’s being completely honest. Karkat even said it (CG: KISSES ARE JUST AS CONCILIATORY AS THEY ARE CONCUPISCENT, AND JUST AS PLATONIC AS THEY ARE ROMANTIC), which makes it true, right?

Here’s hoping. John leans in, and he can see Karkat’s eyes close before he kisses him.

It is a good kiss. It is a _very_ good kiss. Karkat’s lips are soft, and they part a little as John presses closer. Through his fingertips, John can feel the blood thrumming just under the surface of Karkat’s skin. And he is hot. He runs feverish. Not as in the liquid warmth John feels from Sollux, but dry, crackling, fiery. All-consuming. Destructive. John draws back, not wanting to get burned, and for a moment he just takes in Karkat’s face. He looks peaceful. It’s strange to see on him, but it’s a look he wears well, and John would give anything in the world for Karkat to be this blissful all the time. Karkat’s eyes open. His pupils are blown. From this distance, John can count his eyelashes.

Then Karkat follows him. Pursues John into his personal space, lunges up and close and claims his mouth again. At first it’s chaste. Their noses nuzzle. Karkat smells like scorched cedar and coriander. When he brings his hand up to cradle John’s face, John can feel the prickle of his claws just under his ear, behind the corner of his jaw. It could have stayed chaste, but Karkat licks along John’s lips, hesitant and slow but with all the heat of a fresh-struck match, and it’s a spark to tinder, alighting something in John that roars through him like a bonfire. The inside of Karkat's mouth tastes like spices from exotic continents on forgotten planets, and the soft sound he makes when the point of John’s tongue traces his teeth is the pronunciation of surrender.

John’s heart is pounding. His head is swimming. When they disengage, he feels dizzy for a minute. It’s too hot in here. He can’t breathe. “Whoa,” he gasps out, feeling like even his throat is scorched from that one word. Getting some space between them is hard, but when he finally gets his arm back from having it wrapped around Karkat’s shoulders, he’s struck by how _small_ Karkat is. Has he always been that short and slight? Maybe it’s just that he has such a huge personality.

And Karkat doesn’t say anything. He is absolutely silent, looking at John with wide eyes and a slack mouth. It’s unnerving. He should be saying something. Karkat, who usually doesn’t shut up, is refusing to speak.

The silence between them threatens to overwhelm the tinny, repeated music of the DVD menu. “I,” John finally says. “I should.” Words. He was going to use them. Where did they go? He can’t breathe. “I need to.” Did this room suddenly get smaller? Is he running a fever? “I just have to. Go.” That’s it. That was the missing word. His ears are ringing. When he stands from the bed, he has to take a second to find his balance.

Apparently, Karkat isn’t going to take his abrupt departure sitting down. While John staggers to the door, Karkat’s climbing onto his knees—because he’s taller this way, on his bed, than he would be on his feet. “Get back here right now, you fucking bulgewaffle!” he screeches, but John can barely hear him over the fumbling he’s doing with the door handle.

Hall. Bright. Can’t breathe. Holds onto the wall. Puts one foot in front of the other. Can’t breathe. _Can’t breathe. CAN’T BREATHE._ Mirrors. Tile. Privacy. Latches a door. Sinks to his knees. Plants his hands on either side of the toilet and prays to himself that he won’t throw up. Oh, god, he’s going to die.

John Katharine Egbert is currently unavailable, as he is in the middle of a panic attack.


	17. Chapter 17

There is a tornado inside of John right now.

That’s what his panic attacks feel like. He can’t breathe. Everything is turbulent. The pressure is intense. All he can do right now is hold on for dear life and hope this doesn’t kill him. It won’t—it never does. But it always feels like it might.

His first instinct is to use a lifeline. Of course, it’s hard to dial when his hands are shaking so badly, but the person he wants to call is in his favorites anyway. “Pick up,” he mutters as he gets the dial tone. “Pick up, pick up, pick up…”

“This is Rose Lalonde,” her voicemail mocks him. “I’m currently with another patient. To leave a voicemail, press one.”

“Damn it!” He might actually crush his phone right now. From the cradle of his palm, Rose keeps nattering, “Para continuar en español, presione siete.” Thank god he gets the beep right after that. “Hey, Rose,” and his voice is way too shaky for him to be talking right now but Rose has done this before, “I kinda need—”

“I’m sorry,” says an automated voice. “This user’s voicemail is currently full. To pursue alternate delivery options, press eleven.”

“There is no eleven, you fucking whore!” John screams at an inanimate object. Shit, what kind of language has he picked up from Karkat’s crass vernacular?

Before he actually breaks the thing that keeps him in contact with all his friends, John forces himself to take a breath. Maybe even take five. Five whole breaths. They’re shallow and kind of useless, but at least his lungs still work. Fuck. Why wouldn’t Rose answer? He shouldn’t need Rose to get through a stupid panic attack anyway. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. What would she tell him to do?

Something that calms him down. He needs to see things in black and white again.

\--

\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] began trolling turntechGodhead  [TG] at 19:11 --  
TA: have you 2een JB twoday?  
TG: im fine thanks and how are you  
TA: hii or whatever, jacka22.  
TA: ii thought you would have, 2eeiing a2 you liive wiith hiim.  
TG: i havent  
TG: im not his goddamn babysitter  
TG: god can smite me for not being my brothers keeper i dont give a shit  
TG: just because i live with him doesnt mean ive shoved a gps chip up his ass so i can track his every movement  
TG: although that would be pretty smart  
TG: i dont think id shove it up his ass though  
TG: maybe cut it into the back of his neck while he sleeps  
TG: dudes a deep sleeper  
TA: 2o you don't know where he ii2.  
TG: tbh i thought he was with you  
TG: when hes not here i just assume hes attached to your face at all times  
TA: iit'2 conde2ceday. or what the fuck do human2 call iit. 2unday.  
TG: oh right  
TG: res day  
TG: daddy egbert must have dragged him off campus early  
TG: he might still be out there who knows  
TA: but do you know that for 2ure?  
TG: youre awfully invested in this  
TA: he 2aiid he would meet me at work and we would piick up eveniing meal at the diiniing hall.  
TG: so  
TA: ii got off work an hour ago.  
TG: maybe hes just late  
TA: ha2 JB ever been late for anythiing iin hii2 entiire fuckiing liife?  
TG: you have a point  
TG: have you tried  
TG: i dont know  
TG: calling him  
TA: do you 2eriiou2ly thiink ii'd bee me22agiing you iif ii could reach hiim.  
TG: so egberts missing then  
TG: what now  
TA: everyone ii 2aw at work 2aiid they hadn't 2een hiim.  
TA: do you have a way to contact hii2 adult human lu2u2?  
TG: regrettably yes  
TA: a2k hiim when he brought JB back two campu2.  
TA: ii'll 2tart runniing through my trolliian 2creenname2.  
TG: yeah this is a little  
TG: hm  
TG: get back to me if you find anything  
TA: 2ame two you.  
\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] ceased trolling turntechGodhead  [TG] at 19:23 --

The following matters have been submitted in a frank and forthright manner for pipefan413's judicious appraisal.  
 _f_ turntechGodhead \- 19:24  
hey mr egbert quick question  
 _f_ pipefan413 \- 19:24  
JOHN'S BIRTHDAY IS NOT UNTIL APRIL.  
 _f_ turntechGodhead \- 19:24  
thanks for reminding me but thats not it  
 _f_ pipefan413 \- 19:25  
THE PROPER WAY OF GETTING A BLOOD STAIN OUT OF CLOTHING INCLUDES HYDROGEN PEROXIDE AND COLD WATER IMMEDIATELY IF NOT SOONER.  
 _f_ turntechGodhead \- 19:25  
thanks for the life hacks but i wanted to know when you dropped your kid back off at school today  
 _f_ pipefan413 \- 19:26  
AS HE HAS BEEN PROTESTING ABOUT A LACK OF TIME IN WHICH TO CONDUCT ACTIVITIES WITH HIS FRIENDS, I DROPPED HIM OFF SOON AFTER LUNCH.  
 _f_ turntechGodhead \- 19:26  
how soon after lunch are we talking  
 _f_ pipefan413 \- 19:27  
IT WAS NO LATER THAN ONE O'CLOCK THIS AFTERNOON.  
 _f_ turntechGodhead \- 19:28  
thanks i havent seen him around so i was wondering where he could be  
 _f_ pipefan413 \- 19:30  
YOU ARE A VERY DEDICATED FRIEND IF YOU ARE CONTACTING HIS FATHER TO DISCERN HIS WHEREABOUTS.  
 _f_ turntechGodhead \- 19:31  
thanks that actually means a lot coming from you but i gotta keep looking for him so bye

\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] began trolling carcinoGeneticist  [CG] at 19:23 --  
TA: have you 2een JB twoday?  
CG: STRAIGHT INTO BUSINESS, HUH?  
CG: NOT EVEN A GREETING FOR YOUR PALEMATE?  
CG: YOU CAN BE SUCH A RUDE SACK OF SHIT SOMETIMES.  
TA: hii, a22hole.  
TA: do ii need two repeat my2elf or can you actually an2wer the que2tiion wiithout me neediing two pull your teeth two do iit?  
CG: NOTHING.  
CG: I MEAN  
CG: I DEFINITELY HAVEN'T SEEN JOHN TODAY.  
CG: NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT.  
CG: NOT AT ALL.  
CG: I DIDN'T EVEN THINK ABOUT HIM UNTIL YOU MENTIONED HIM JUST NOW.  
CG: WHY WOULD I BE THINKING ABOUT JOHN?  
CG: WHY WOULD I BE SEEING HIM?  
CG: I DON'T KNOW WHERE HE IS RIGHT NOW.  
CG: HE PROBABLY HAS HIS HEAD JAMMED SO FAR UP HIS OWN WASTE CHUTE HE CAN POP OUT OF HIS OWN GOB BY NOW.  
CG: SO IT MIGHT ACTUALLY BE APPROPRIATE TO SAY 'UP HIS BUTT AND AROUND THE CORNER' AND HAVE THERE BE SOME TRUTH TO IT.  
TA: KK.  
CG: WHAT?  
TA: 2eriiou2ly?  
CG: WHAT???  
TA: ii'm not ju2t 2ome 2tranger, ii'm your moiiraiil.  
TA: ii know when you're lyiing, dumb2hiit.  
CG: I'M NOT LYING!  
TA: you're lyiing.  
TA: you're lyiing 2o hard that ba2iically all ii can 2ee on my 2creen ii2 you makiing fart noii2e2 wiith your mouth and puttiing that through 2peech two text.  
CG: YOU FUCKING WIN, I'M LYING.  
TA: the2e thiing2 would be 2o much ea2iier iif you would ju2t tell the fuckiing truth the fir2t tiime iin2tead of wu22iing out.  
TA: and ii'm kiind of offended that you would liie two me iin the fir2t place.  
CG: FINE, I'M SORRY.  
CG: IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR?  
TA: ye2, you can keep goiing now.  
CG: I DID SEE JOHN TODAY.  
CG: I DIDN'T THINK I WOULD AND I WAS SURPRISED WHEN HE SHOWED UP.  
CG: I EVEN TOLD HIM YOU WEREN'T HERE AND HE SAID HE WANTED TO SEE ME, NOT YOU.  
CG: WE JUST WATCHED A MOVIE.  
CG: AN EARTH HUMAN MOVIE THAT WAS COMPLETE WEAKSLIME, AND I TOLD HIM THAT.  
TA: what tiime diid he 2how up at our room?  
CG: I DON'T FUCKING KNOW, I WAS ASLEEP.  
CG: HE WAS ONLY HERE FOR, WHAT, TWO HOURS?  
CG: WHY DO YOU NEED TO KNOW WHERE HE IS ANYWAY?  
CG: I ASSUMED HE WAS WITH YOU.  
TA: he wa2 2uppo2ed two meet me at the computer lab an hour and a half ago and he never 2howed up.  
TA: ii have no iidea where he ii2 riight now.  
CG: HE'S NEVER LATE FOR ANYTHING.  
TA: ii know riight.  
CG: DID YOU TRY HIS PHONE?  
TA: ii triied piingiing iit un2ucce22fully, iit'2 not connected two any of the campu2 2erver2.  
TA: whiich mean2 he turned iit off, he never turn2 hii2 phone off.  
CG: MAYBE HE JUST DOESN'T WANT TO TALK TO ANYONE.  
TA: and he'2 not usually liike that, 2o ii want two know why.  
CG: WELL  
CG: I MEAN  
CG: IT WAS DEFINITELY A PALHONCHO KIND OF THING.  
CG: HE HADN'T WANTED TO HANG OUT WITH ME FOR A MONTH AND THIS KIND OF CAME UP OUT OF NOWHERE.  
CG: WE HAD A FEELINGS JAM AFTER THE MOVIE WAS OVER AND HE APOLOGIZED AND EVERYTHING.  
CG: BUT THEN EVERYTHING GOT FUCKED RIGHT IN THE AURICULAR SPONGE CLOTS, BECAUSE SOMEHOW JOHN HAS A WAY OF FUCKING UP PRETTY MUCH EVERYTHING, AND HE JUST LEFT AFTER THAT.  
TA: defiine everythiing.  
CG: I THOUGHT WE HAD A DEAL.  
CG: YOU NEED TO KEEP YOUR HUMAN ON A LEASH.  
TA: that'2 not an an2wer and he'2 not a barkbea2t.  
CG: HE COULD HAVE FOOLED ME, HE'S ACTING LIKE A LITTLE BITCH RIGHT NOW.  
CG: AND YOU KNOW THE BEST PART ABOUT THIS LITTLE FUSTERCLUCK?  
CG: IT IS TOTALLY, ABSOLUTELY, ONE HUNDRED PERCENT MY FAULT, AND I WANT TO STRANGLE PAST ME AND DROWN HIM IN MY OWN LIQUID WASTE.  
TA: 2elf-hate ii2 not a good color on you.  
CG: THEN WHAT THE FUCK IS?  
TA: try apoplectiic wiith rage iin2tead, iit'2 much more entertaiiniing two me.  
TA: even better, try actually an2weriing a goddamn que2tiion ii a2k you iin2tead of makiing me go over there and 2hoo2hpap you untiil you cooperate.  
CG: BASICALLY I SHOULDN'T HAVE EXPLAINED TROLL ANYTHING TO JOHN.  
CG: HE'S SO STUPID HE MAKES SLIME MOLD LOOK INTELLIGENT.  
CG: YOU KNOW WHAT HE DID?  
CG: HE FUCKING KISSED ME, SOLLUX.  
TA: 2ay that agaiin.  
CG: HE TOLD ME THAT I SAID TO HIM ONE OF THE NICEST THINGS HE'S EVER HEARD AND THEN HE KISSED ME.  
CG: AND YOU KNOW WHAT THE WORST PART IS?  
CG: I FUCKING KISSED HIM BACK.  
CG: BECAUSE I'M EVEN MORE IDIOTIC THAN EGBERT HUMAN JOHN.  
TA: eheh, you fucked 2hiit up.  
CG: YOU SHOULDN'T BE LAUGHING AT ME, FUCKTRUMPET, YOU SHOULD BE HELPING ME FIGURE OUT HOW TO FIX IT.  
TA: iif ii'm rememberiing correctly, and ii am, you 2aiid ii'm your moiiraiil 2o ii 2houldn't bee tryiing two au2pi2tiize beetween you and DV.  
CG: EVEN MORE EVIDENCE THAT PAST ME SHOULD HAVE KILLED HIMSELF, WITH THE ADDED BONUS THAT I WOULDN'T BE HAVING THIS CONVERSATION RIGHT NOW IF HE HAD.  
TA: giive me at lea2t a liittle crediit, ii'm tryiing two fiind JB whiich would actually bee helpiing everyone iin2tead of ju2t you.  
TA: diid he 2eriiou2ly ju2t leave after the 2 of you ki22ed?  
CG: HE STARTED IT!  
TA: and you fuckiing fiinii2hed iit, ii'm not changiing the topiic two argue 2emantiic2 wiith you.  
CG: HE LEFT, YEAH.  
CG: THAT CURDLED LUMP OF SEWER BYPRODUCT FUCKING BOLTED.  
CG: HE STUTTERED OUT SOMETHING, BUT NOT WHERE HE WAS GOING, JUST THAT HE WAS LEAVING.  
CG: IN FACT, HE KIND OF LOOKED LIKE A CHUMBUCKET THEIR FIRST TIME ON LAND, TRYING TO BREATHE THROUGH THEIR GILLS INSTEAD OF THEIR ATMOSPHERE ASPIRATORS.  
TA: oh 2hiit.  
CG: OH SHIT IS RIGHT, WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO ABOUT DAVE?  
TA: you're the one iin the concupii2cent quadrant wiith hiim 2o ii thiink that'2 your problem, not miine.  
TA: whiile you're fiiguriing that out, ii'm goiing to track down JB, he'2 ba2iically haviing hii2 equiivalent two one of my miigraiine2 riight now.  
CG: OH SHIT.  
TA: ii'm off two do my own damage control but ii'll pre2iide over your corp2e party iif you want.  
CG: FUCK OFF.  
TA: good luck two you two.  
\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist  [CG] at 19:51 --

\-- turntechGodhead  [TG] began pestering twinArmageddons  [TA] at 19:32 --  
TG: egberts dad dropped him off around one if that helps  
\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] is an idle chum! --  
TA: iit doe2 and iit doe2n't.  
TA: JB wa2 hangiing out wiith KK earliier.  
TA: then JB went iintwo a paniic attack and that'2 where the traiil end2.  
TG: shit  
TG: shitfuckdamn  
TG: he probably didnt have his meds on him either  
TG: he never fucking does  
TG: its like he thinks itll never happen again  
TG: and it just keeps hapening  
TG: what a fucking idiot  
TA: iif he wa2 back on campu2 at one and 2pent 2 or 2o hour2 wiith KK that mean2 we lo2t track of hiim almo2t fiive hour2 ago.  
TG: i might know where he ran off to  
TG: he always wants to play when hes freaked out  
TG: hes probably cooped up in a practice room at strider hall banging away at an upright  
TG: thats not good if he had a panic attack though  
TG: what the fuck would have triggered that  
TG: what were they even doing  
TA: they watched a moviie twogether, then 2omethiing about kii22iing.  
TG: wait  
TG: hold the fuck up  
TG: did you just say  
TA: JB kii22ed KK, KK ki22ed hiim back.  
TA: iif you want two get techniical wiith 2emantiic2, and KK doe2, JB 2tarted iit but KK defiiniitely fiinii2hed iit.  
TG: huh  
TG: well  
TG: thats  
TA: ii'm goiing two go check 2triider hall for 2iign2 of JB, 2hould ii 2top by two piick up hiis piill2.  
TG: not worth it  
TG: it woulda helped five hours ago but not now  
TG: besides im not gonna be here much longer  
TG: i gotta have a little chat with your roommate  
TA: ii'm not gettiing iin the miiddle of thii2.  
\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] ceased trolling turntechGodhead  [TG] at 20:02 --

\--

Sollux can’t actually remember how to get to Strider Hall, and no one is screaming this time to act as a reliable beacon. Was John even screaming earlier? Quietly, if at all. Wasn’t anywhere close to dying, even if it might have felt like it. Without hesitation, Sollux walks out of his dorm and straight into a windy, cloudy, chilly mess. Did John cause this? Doesn’t seem to know the extent of his own powers sometimes; the only time Sollux has seen them in action was at Porrim’s party.

At first, Sollux’s ID won’t let him into the building. Why the hell not? Because it’s Condesceday and magically no one needs to practice on the weekends? Because only music majors have swipe access? Are there physical keys? Fuck it. No time. He’s frustrated enough that when he tries to crack his way in, his psionics actually break the card reader. Well. That’s going to show up on his tuition bill. Sollux darts in before the system notices an intruder, leaving the thing smoking.

Inside, it’s just as beautifully discordant as he vaguely remembered. If Sollux had better experiences associated with this place, he might even like it. As always, though, there’s some sort of crisis drawing him here, and under better circumstances, he would never have needed to know what the interior looked like.

What instrument does John play, again? Piano, right? It’s hard for Sollux to pick out the specific sound. Alternians hadn’t yet invented an analog to the pianoforte per se, but trolls will always be able to appreciate hitting things with hammers. There’s so much artifice in the design that to a martial culture, it comes off as having nothing better to do than to serenade someone just for the sake of it. Because only a highblood would have that kind of time, in Sollux’s eyes it lends a certain nobility to John’s character.

It’s hard to describe what pulls him in any particular direction. Resonance, a bass note thrumming through wood. An angry twang of felt just missing a side string. The metallic jangle of higher registers. But John isn’t in any of the practice rooms Sollux has peered into so far. Maybe he isn’t here after—

[There, a violent cascade of notes that sounds faster than a human hand can play.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hnWo8PxrOR4) Sollux follows the melody and finds, not a practice room, but a classroom instead. Not only is it less soundproofed, so noise leaks out into the hallway, but from what Sollux can see through the viewport, there’s a larger piano in here—a different shape, black and glossy and menacing. An upright wouldn’t be able to hold John, not in force and definitely not in size. An antique grand pianoforte, lid propped open and impeccably tuned? That’s more like it.

Did John lock the door? Sollux gently tries the handle and it gives without much resistance. For his efforts, his ears are immediately greeted with another torrent of notes that leaves him feeling like a Twelfth Perigee’s wind just passed through him. John isn’t even looking at his hands; they seem almost disembodied, yanked around on puppet strings Sollux can’t quite see.

What’s most unnerving, though, isn’t that John looks possessed, or that his playing is so good that it’s almost supernatural. It’s that he’s smoking. Half a cigarette, long ash and fire tip, is hanging from his mouth, almost as if he’d forgotten about it. Its fallen friends—shit, there’s a lot of them—are mashed into a little clear disc on a shelf that overhangs the strings. What is it called? Tobacco? Some kind of dried Earth plant that’s ground up, rolled together, and sold en masse for carcinogenic consumption. On Alternia the same sort of thing was just called ‘leaf,’ but not in the same sense as humans use ‘herb.’

John takes a deep drag and finishes out this particular song. Did he even notice when Sollux came in? “JB,” is all he says.

The human nearly jumps out of his skin. “The hell—” Once he turns around and sees Sollux, he exhales, breath heavy with smoke. “You scared the crap out of me.”

“I didn’t want to interrupt.” What John was playing was amazing, and Sollux could have watched him for hours. “Are you smoking?”

John ashes, brings his cigarette back to his mouth to inhale again. “Sorry,” and how does he manage to look sheepish, sly, and genuinely apologetic all at once? It just makes Sollux want to kiss his stupid adorable gross-tasting mouth. “Nervous habit, sort of. My dad smokes. He’s a pipe smoker. I’m not that pretentious yet, but I guess I picked it up from him.”

Sollux crosses the room so he can better see the instrument, and there it is, eighty-eight keys of glorious black and white. John’s hands look at home here. “Isn’t that bad for you?” For his own part, he tries to resist the impulse to comb his fingers through John’s hair and utterly fails. It still disorients him that there isn’t even a hint of horn under all that mess.

John shrugs. “Probably. But hey, I’m a god. An Heir of Breath. I think I have enough to go around.” Sollux’s fingers come down to trace John’s on the keyboard. “You can play it, if you want.”

“I’d scratch it.” One of these days he needs to do something about his claws. Sometimes he’s afraid of hurting John just from holding hands with him. He rests his chin on John’s shoulder and places a hand over his. “I couldn’t find you earlier.”

“Yeah, I…” John’s done with this cigarette. He stubs it out with the others, fiddles in his sylladex for another, snatches a lighter from in there as well, and lights yet another. Did he turn off the smoke alarms? “I had a panic attack and Rose wasn’t there and I couldn’t think of how else to calm down.”

“You turned off your phone, though,” Sollux points out.

“I probably shouldn’t have done that.” John looks so much older with a cigarette in his hand. “I just didn’t want to talk to anyone after what happened.”

“What happened, though?”

John sighs, his shoulders sagging. “I did a dumb. A really, really dumb.” Sollux knows exactly how dumb, but it’s important to hear how John’s going to describe it. “Me and Karkat were hanging out, like we used to do on Sundays before I got super busy with tribal stuff, and we started talking about relationship stuff because we were watching one of those romcom movies he likes. And he was so convinced that he was a horrible friend, and I just…” Sollux can feel a tremble lingering under John’s skin. John takes another drag and it dissipates. “I just wanted him to believe that he was a good person, and he told me before that kisses don’t have to be romantic, not even troll romantic, so I thought, if he’s not listening to me, maybe he’ll pay attention to…” His voice gets weaker towards the end, then trails off completely.

“So you kissed him?”

John nods, looking miserable. “It was so stupid, and I’m so, so sorry, the most sorry thing, it’s me, and I totally understand if you don’t want—”

“It’s okay,” Sollux says, and for a second John keeps babbling until he actually hears the words that came out of his mouth. “It’s okay,” just for emphasis. “I don’t care.”

“Are you sure?”

“Completely sure.” To cement it, Sollux leaves a soft kiss of his own on John’s face, right in the stubble along his jaw. “KK’s probably flipping his solid waste over his self-indulgent quadrant finagling, but you’re not a troll and I don’t really give a shit how many people are in whoever’s whatever quadrant.”

John finally takes his hands away from the piano keys and smashes down his cigarette. Must finally be relaxing, then. “You think Karkat and I are in a quadrant?”

Sollux uses the underside of his finger, well away from his claw, to depress an ivory key; a middle-low note sounds in the room. “He doesn’t hate you—not like he used to, but the two of you are so stupidly fucking pale right now.”

“Everything makes so much sense,” John marvels, taking his glasses off to clean them in the hem of his shirt. “Holy crap, everything makes _so much sense_. That’s why he’s so jealous.”

“He’s jealous of everything,” Sollux points out.

“No, jealous of _us_. Because he’s trying to do stupid troll quadrant math in his head—no offense,” he corrects himself, tucking his glasses back behind his ears, “and he almost doesn’t want me near his monorail, or whatever, because I’m his monorail too, and then he confuses himself and gets all angry at everyone over nothing.”

“Close enough.” Actually, Sollux was thinking more flushed than anything else—which he still doesn’t have a problem with. In fact, everything makes more sense to him with one-person-two-quadrants or two-people-one-quadrant. If John’s straddling Karkat’s redroms and has two people in his flushed and pale quadrants, that’s perfect to Sollux. Two by two. Nice and neat. And as long as they’re talking about quadrants… “I have something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Yes, I will marry you,” John deadpans.

“I don’t even know what that means.” Probably some human ritual. He’ll have to ask later. “It’s about quadrants.”

“Oh, god,” John whines, “do we have to keep talking about the goddamn quadrants?”

“It’s almost over, I promise,” Sollux snarks. “I… might be black with RX right now.”

“What does ‘might be’ mean?”

“I think that’s what it is.” It’s not like Sollux ever asked her on a hate date or anything, it just started happening and it keeps happening. “All we really do is cyber, it’s not that serious.”

“Damn.” John whistles, long and low, through those buck teeth of his. For the space of a breath, Sollux’s digestion threads knot. Then, “I am _so_ jealous,” and Sollux knows he’s fine. “I wanted to get with her in high school, but I thought Dirk might kill me with his brain or something if I looked at her wrong. I didn’t think she did the thing, though.”

If by ‘the thing’ he means pailing, “She doesn’t. We don’t. It’s just self-pailing and Trollian.”

John’s face breaks into the smallest smile. He’s back. “Do you know if she’s a cuddler?”

“We’ll have to find out.” Everything in Sollux’s thorax goes a little wonky when John looks this happy, and he can’t help sneaking a kiss. It’s kind of a little disgusting, but totally worth it.

Of course, the moment shatters, as they all do. This time it’s John’s food blender gurgling obnoxiously. “I think I need to eat. Wait, shit, I missed picking you up from work! I am so, so—”

It grumbles again, and Sollux lets out a dry laugh. “Food first, words later.” Definitely staying away from his room for the next few hours. He grabs one of John’s hands, and their fingers fold together as he finally leaves the piano.


	18. Chapter 18

Dave really hates this place sometimes. Washington is nothing like Texas—cold, damp, cloudy, windy. This college bullshit is also really fucking juvenile. He could be out there, having a real career. Talent doesn’t need a degree for validation. By this point, he could be living on his own, hobnobbing with actual celebrities instead of just the accidental fame his friends have. He’d miss John. And… well, actually, that might be the only thing.

More importantly, he’d be two entire fucking time zones away from the emotional terrorist that is Karkat Vantas.

It’s a five-minute walk between Typheus Hall and Vantas’s dorm. That gives Dave exactly not enough time to figure out what he’s going to say what he gets there. His internal gears are grinding, sending up sparks. Dave doesn’t even know how to have a fight, a real fight with actual words that doesn’t end with a strife on the roof.

He can’t even get into the building without swiping, and he left his ID in his room. God fucking damn it. After a little while (twenty-three seconds, eight hundred eighty-seven milliseconds) yanking on the door handle and jostling it so hard he almost breaks the glass, a resident takes pity on him and props it open. Tavros. Fucking Nitram is his goddamn savior. “Fuck you.” Dave is the opposite of in the mood for sparring with him in any sense of the word.

“Maybe later,” is all the troll says in return, and if Dave could spare the time he would have punched him square in the face. He doesn’t have time. He never has time.

Dave’s body remembers the way to Karkat’s room better than his brain does. He vaults the stairs, nearly bowls over Aradia—fuck slowing down, fuck saying sorry—and hightails it straight to 213. His hands are not shaking when he knocks on the door. “Vantas!” he shouts, loud enough to wake the troll even if he’s sleeping.

Here goes nothing.

\--

Karkat was sleeping. Why must people interrupt him when he is sleeping. Fucking assholes. Even after five years, his body still isn’t quite adjusted to Earth day cycles, and for him this is the equivalent of a human’s five AM. For a minute, he considers rolling over and ignoring it, but then the knock starts up again. “Open up!”

That’s Dave’s voice.

If Karkat wasn’t awake yet, he certainly as hell is awake right the fuck now. His food blender immediately ties itself in a knot, which only gets tighter as the dread sets in fully. It might be ‘splainin’ time, and he is not ready to do any explaining whatsoever. He has no excuses. There really aren’t any. “It’s open,” he tries to say casually, in his best grumpy everything-is-normal voice.

Of course, the universe fucking hates him and everything he stands for, so it’s locked. Dave jimmies the door handle, gets nowhere, and pounds on the door again. “Let me in!” gets muffled by the wood.

By the time Karkat undoes the lock and opens the door, Dave’s been at it so hard that he actually stumbles into the room, carried by his own momentum. “What’s so fucking important that you had to wake me up?”

“Egbert’s missing,” tumbles out of Dave’s mouth.

Somehow, Karkat’s digestion noodles contribute to the massive snarl that his food blender started. This is his fault. Everything is Karkat’s fault, but more particularly, this specific thing is definitely his fault. “I don’t know where he is.” His voice comes out weaker than he meant it to, probably because he’s trying to talk and not throw up at the same time.

“Captor said you were the last person to see him—these his?” He’s found John’s DVDs, looking through the boxes with some interest.

“He just left them here.” Is this where he starts explaining? “We were—we had our weekly friendleader bulgebumping asshole conference, except we hadn’t had one of those in maybe half a fucking sweep by now, so I think he wanted to play catch-up. He brought some shitty human movies, we had a shitty time, and then he was a piece of shit and left without saying where he was going.” Yes, he’s leaving out an important fact. Dave doesn’t have to know. Right?

“I can’t believe he just left his shit. Why would he just leave his shit and bolt like that?” Dave has his shades trained on the pink box, the one with the white dress on the front.

“I don’t fucking know!” Contrary to popular belief, Karkat doesn’t always have all the answers. He likes to pretend that he does in front of everyone so he can keep his own shit together, corral everyone else’s feces, and just generally make things go a lot smoother for everybody, but right now he’s completely lost his shit. And control over this metaphor. “He was freaking out about something and he stumbled out of here and I haven’t been able to message him since.”

“So he just went spaz weasel on you for no reason?” Now he’s reading the summary on the other box.

Explanation. There isn’t one. Time to let his ignorance tunnel flap open all over the place. “We were talking about quadrants and relationships and romance and shit, which I guess just makes humans press an internal ejector seat button or something because he always starts moaning and groaning whenever I try to explain anything to him.”

“Anything else?” Dave’s shades are now trained right on his face.

He knows. It was there. In the tone. He knows. “He kissed me,” Karkat blurts out, trying to save face after sucking face.

For a good minute, Dave doesn’t say anything. Karkat can almost see the gears whirring in his head. He can’t read that expression—eyes hidden, mouth set in a passive line, hands completely still by his sides. “You kissed him,” he says eventually, inflection completely absent.

“He started it!” Karkat’s quick to correct him.

Another stony silence. “You didn’t contradict me.”

“What?”

“Why the _fuck_ would you encourage him?” Dave erupts, mouth twisting into a snarl. His left hand forms an empty grip around an absent sword. “Yeah, Egbert’s fucking dumb, but why would you even—I can’t. I physically can’t. I’m done,” and he starts pacing around the tiny room. Three steps from the middle to the door.

“I didn’t fucking ask for him to—do you think I just sat there, going, oh please, John, please fuck up this kismessitude that you don’t even fucking know about because you have the deductive reasoning of a particularly intelligent cholerbear!” Karkat’s actually more relaxed now that Dave actually started speaking his mind. Because this—this is a fight. This is what blackmates _do_. They fight. A lot. They spar. A lot. They fuck. A lot. It’s great. Everyone’s happy. Everybody wins.

Six steps from the door to the windowsill, six steps from the windowsill to the door. “This isn’t about Egbert, nubhorns,” and okay, that insult actually hurt, “this is about you and the fact that you fucking cheated on me.”

“Yeah, well, you did it first!” is Karkat’s juvenile retort.

Not smart. Dave comes to a dead halt, so fast Karkat might even have heard the screech of applied brakes. “I did it first,” he repeats, voice hollow. “I did it first? Are you even listening to yourself right now?”

“You did!” Petulance pays off sometimes, and Karkat’s willing to press this point until this fight mulls into a traditional blackrom resolution. “You went right the fuck up to him at Porrim’s little soiree and planted one right on his talk blaster.”

“That was different and you know it,” Dave growls. “He’s my moirail. Romantic, right? I’m fucking entitled, as long as he’s willing.”

“So you’re a human that’s too good for quadrants,” Karkat reminds him, “but when it’s convenient you’re just going to claim him as your palemate?” Which, well, he’d be right, but Karkat’s loath to concede the point. “What you did was even worse. That went up on ebubbles in seconds. You re-bubbled it the next day. Like you were fucking proud of the fact that you’re a shameless attention whore!” Because if Dave’s going to be slinging verbal missiles, Karkat’s willing to barb him right back.

“Do you really want to play the attention-whore game?” Dave wheels around, starts advancing on him, and Karkat almost—almost!—reaches into his sylladex for a sickle. “ _You_ , of all people? You push away Egbert for doing the exact thing you wanted him to do and sticking his tongue down your roommate’s ignorance shaft or whatever, you throw tantrums just so your moirail will calm you down, and you troll the fuck out of me when I’m deep as dicks into a project.”

This. This is the segue. This is how Karkat gets out of the net Dave’s been trying to trap him in. This is less about what happened and more about blowing off steam in that constructive, structured way. “Well, guess what, you got my fucking attention now,” he growls, reaching up to yank Dave’s shades away from his face so they can start the reconciliation.

Dave slaps his hand away before he can even get in the vicinity of his body heat. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he grits out. “I’m disgusted with you right now.”

“We all got what we wanted—wait.” Something’s wrong. Something is W-R-O-N-G _wrong_. “Wait a minute. This—this isn’t flirting.” Karkat’s hand stings from the impact, but he doesn’t shake it off. Dave should have just let him take his shades off and pull his head down and kiss him stupid and then they would pail and everything would be fine.

“ _Why would you think this is fucking flirting?_ ” Dave screams at him, completely shattering even the hope of that fantasy. The further he encroaches forward, the further Karkat gets backed into a very literal corner; the five inches between them in height difference suddenly feels enormous, and on instinct Karkat gets a sickle in his hand to protect himself.

Dave responds in kind with a blade, and the two come together in a ring of metal and a shower of sparks. “Put it away,” Karkat insists, holding his own even as Dave’s bearing down on him.

“You first,” Dave mutters, pressing further forward. This isn’t even the sexy kind of kismesis trying to kill him that Karkat’s always been striving for. This is a complete mess, and he should never have gotten involved with humans in the first place, should have died with his home planet and his already-forgotten culture in the Crisis just like trillions of other trolls.

Karkat already lost the moral high ground when he kissed John. He’s now lost the literal high ground to Dave’s advances. He glitches his sickle back into his strife deck, and without anything to hold it back, the point of Dave’s sword ends up in a groove of the concrete bricks just above Karkat’s shoulder, the length of the blade at the soft underside of his jaw. “Fine,” he says, and his voice comes out even more strained than usual, nearer a whisper than anything else. “I fucked up.”

“Yeah you did.” The blade presses more insistently against the column of his neck; Karkat can feel the indent it left behind welling with blood, and it’s humiliating to know his hemochrome mutation is on display in front of his kismesis. “Pretty much shit the bed you sleep in.”

The worst part is that it’s true. No matter what way Karkat tries to slice and dice it, no matter how much he shuffles around these quadrants, he can’t make the math come out right, and he’s panicked because of it. If he still hates John as much as he used to, then he cheated on Dave. If he doesn’t hate him but still wants to pail him (because honestly, at this point, who _doesn’t_ want to pail John?), then he encouraged John to cheat on Sollux, which would make him the worst human friendship friend and moirail ever. And if he doesn’t want to pail him but still wants to kiss him, which he very much fucking does, then he’s cheating on Sollux. There is absolutely no way to fit John into his life like this, and Karkat can’t see another way.

Everything’s complicated, and everything hurts, not so much the cuts Dave leaves at his throat when he recaptchalogues his sord but moreso the ache radiating through his entire thorax, dread setting heavy into his hands and making it hard to swallow. “I’m not doing this with you any more,” Dave says, the eerie monotone settling back into his voice again.

Karkat reflexively touches the wounds Dave left; his fingertips come away smeared with blood, freak blood, mutant blood, and he wants to throw up for so many different reasons. “What does that even mean?” he asks, and the words hang there in the weighted atmosphere.

“We’re not doing this troll black thing,” Dave clarifies, and Karkat can feel the point of a spade digging into his blood pusher and threatening to tear it in two. “I can’t do this bullshit right now. I can’t. I just can’t. It’s too much.”

At this point, Karkat doesn’t even know what to say. He’s afraid his voice will crack if he opens his mouth for a retort. Even worse, he could say something stupid that completely ruins any chance that Dave might change his mind. He can’t even think of words right now.

Dave turns on his heels and just walks away. Like it’s that easy for him. The sound of the door slamming jars Karkat’s entire body, like that was the trigger it was waiting for, and for the second time today he bursts into tears because of a kismessitude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anxiously awaits martyrdom because i'm about to get murdered for what i just did
> 
> [MUFFLED COLDPLAY "THE SCIENTIST" IN THE BACKGROUND]


	19. Chapter 19

“I can’t believe you actually blew up his computer!” John says through a chuckle. He feels a lot better now that he has food in him. Holding Sollux’s hand as the two of them walk back to Typheus Hall definitely doesn’t hurt. Maybe John should have brought a coat, though. It’s starting to get really cold out at night, darkness settling in earlier and earlier, and it’s almost to the point where his breath’s fogging up.

Next to him, Sollux just shrugs, though John can see the points of his fangs poking out in an attempt to hide how wide he’s actually smiling. “It’s not that hard,” he tells John as John swipes them into the building. “He doesn’t know how to code for shit, and he’s arrogant enough to think he can actually take me head-on. I don’t think he even saw the script before his crabtop went kaboom.”

“I don’t know how to code for shit either,” John reminds him, “so I’m trusting you not to do the same thing to me.”

“Come on. Me?” Sollux is too good at feigning innocence. “Who’s the guy that fixed your computer the night before our first compsci project was due?”

“You,” John admits. Smug bastard. John wouldn’t have him any other way. “Well. Um.” They’re right outside the door of the room he shares with Dave. “This is me,” he says awkwardly.

“This is you,” Sollux agrees. “Anybody home?”

“No idea.” Does he knock? Yell out for his roommate? John just jiggles the door handle. Still locked. That doesn’t mean anything on its own. But when he gets the door open, it’s completely dark. Even Dave would at least have the backlight of his laptop or tablet or phone. “Nope.”

Sollux slams the door shut behind the two of them and launches himself at John’s face.

It takes John aback—in a good way. A very good way. Sollux doesn’t usually initiate things this whole-heartedly, and this is a full-frontal assault of his mouth on John’s mouth and it’s delightful. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, go straight to troll tongue caressing his and tracing the edges of his teeth. John doesn’t even want to come up for air, it’s that good. “What’s this for?” John asks right into Sollux’s mouth before diving in again. Like hell he’s wasting a thing like this.

“Can’t stop thinking about your hands,” Sollux whispers back, the hint of a moan beneath. “Walked in on you playing and—” When John sneaks his hands under the troll’s shirt, Sollux sucks in a sharp breath, lets it out shakily. His skin is warm, and he doesn’t shy away from John’s cold fingers. In fact, he presses closer, and John’s hands move around, and he makes a soft ‘haahhhh’ sound between their lips before he starts kissing at the line of his jaw.

So this is why they call it getting lucky. John feels like he could soar, and it’s all he can do to keep his feet on the ground. Maybe he shouldn’t have to. He leans in to graze his teeth along Sollux’s ear and the troll makes this high rasping sound like he can’t quite catch his breath. Good. Their legs tangle together, and John runs his palms along Sollux’s sides before he gets those magnificent hipbones in his grip, and there’s some stumbling and John cusses into the corner of Sollux’s jaw when his knee finds his bedframe but would you look at that, they tripped and fell right into his bed.

No one’s on top and no one’s on the bottom—just perfectly intertwined, mouths aligned, chests pressed together and hips cautiously apart. John almost wishes the lights were on, if only so he could see how Sollux is lighting up right now. It’s not just red and blue arcs he wants to see, even though he can already feel the static electricity building between them. This boy needs a breaker switch, jesus. No, it’s the gold flush John already knows is behind Sollux’s bruised lips, and John was serious about wanting to see that on every square inch of him.

A loud scream of ‘FUCK!’ echoes through the room. It didn’t come from John, and it sure as hell didn’t sound like Sollux, but it sounds like it’s right here, right the fuck next to them, breathing down their necks. For the second time today John gets startled to within an inch of his life. “What the hell was that?”

“Just my phone,” Sollux says, and goes right back to kissing him like that kind of alert is perfectly normal.

“Shouldn’t you, ah,” John’s going to regret saying this and it’s hard to even get the words out because of the perfect things Sollux’s long, near-prehensile tongue is doing dawdling around his adam’s apple, “shouldn’t you answer that?”

“It’s just KK.” Of course. That’s the perfect message alert tone for him. Just Karkat. Right. John can feel things start to get awkward just from the thought of him, but Sollux is all the right kinds of distracting at the moment, the sides of his claws trailing along John’s arms. “We could invite him,” Sollux mentions, voice dripping with salacious undertones.

Hello wow that’s a boner hi friend that was kind of unexpected. “Are you kidding?” John murmurs right back, biting at Sollux’s lip. “I can’t even handle what I have right now, you’re too much for me.”

“Good, because I want you all to myself,” and Sollux plants a hand on John’s hip, rolls him onto his back, props himself over him, and kisses him so hard John might actually be melting into the mattress.

John’s hands seek further up Sollux’s shirt. Further. Some of this is familiar, other parts not so much, but he only knows it by touch. There’s the hard jut under his ribcage, the smooth expanse down the front of his chest without any hair weird nubs to mar it, the columnar cording of muscles instead of set into blocks like humans. “Take off your shirt?” John meant it as a command, but it comes out more like a question. Sollux is totally free not to, and John doesn’t want to push him into doing anything he’s not completely comfortable with.

Sollux props himself up further. Behind the yellow tint of his lenses, Sollux’s eyes are wide, nearly colorless, black threatening to drown him. And then Sollux rears back completely, the zipper of his skinny jeans nudging against the bulge in John’s pants, and John has to bite his lip or he’s going to lose his cool completely. The troll doesn’t even seem self-conscious, just throws off his shirt like it’s totally natural to get naked in front of someone whose good opinion means everything to him and whose rejection would crush him. The glasses go with the shirt, and there’s suddenly one less layer between them. John can’t help but run his hands up from stomach to shoulders. “Like what you see?”

“Like what I _feel_ ,” John says stupidly, but it makes Sollux smirk and that’s what really matters. The ribs that he thought he could feel poking out of Sollux’s skin turned out to be two black ridges curled around his sides; they’re hard as bone, but Sollux seems to be able to feel through them, if the way he breathes when John caresses them is any indication. No nipples, no chest hair, just one hundred percent lean muscle. No treasure trail leading down between the perfect V of his hips, and John lets himself mourn for a few seconds before he props himself up, threads a hand through Sollux’s hair, and yanks him back down to kiss him again.

This is nice. The furthest they’ve been, naked-wise, and John can feel the intensity ratchet up even further with the way Sollux kisses him like there’s an atomic bomb going off in the distance. This might even be going out of blueballs territory and straight towards—‘FUCK!’ Sollux’s phone screams again, and the troll groans against John’s mouth. “Fucking asshole.”

“Turn it off,” John says, “just want this to be you and me,” and he starts reaching down Sollux’s back to find his ass. Wait. The back pockets of his jeans, to find his phone and fling it across the room.

And the universe has completely conspired against John Katharine Egbert to cockblock him at every possible opportunity, because at this moment, with Sollux half-naked and John getting in a firm grope, the door to his room swings open. Light spills in from the hall, silhouetting a familiar figure. “Jegus christ,” Dave mutters between clenched teeth, palm hitting face in a manner that could scale entire echeladders.

“Jesus christ yourself, didn’t your brother ever teach you to knock?” John blusters, squinting as Dave flicks the lights on in the room.

Sollux is doing a perfect impersonation of something that not only does not give a single damn, but is given damns by the universe to compensate for a negative balance of damns. Cool as he pleases, he just reaches into his back pocket for his phone, flicking through it to see the messages. John looks from him to Dave. From Dave back to Sollux. Dave’s staring at the troll like he could burn a hole in his skull if he tried hard enough, and while Sollux’s posture is a little more put-together than it normally is, the troll doesn’t seem so affected. “I have to go anyway,” Sollux sighs, reaching for his shirt and pulling it back over his head. “KK’s having his regularly-scheduled meltdown.”

“Good,” Dave spits out. Sollux climbs out of John’s bed, and Dave moves as if to get into his, and when they pass each other, Dave shoulder-checks Sollux. Hard. So hard even Sollux grunts a little. What the hell happened between them?

John can’t stand it, having Sollux leave on such a downer. “Wait,” he says, and his hands close around Sollux’s glasses. He rolls out of bed, follows Sollux out into the hall, and closes the door to his room before he whispers, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” It comes out terse, though. John offers Sollux his Gunners, and the troll shoves them on his face smoothly enough. “Just sick of dealing with KK’s bullshit.”

“Then don’t?” John offers.

“I wish,” Sollux grumbles, massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. “I’m his moirail. I knew exactly what he was like when I signed up for this and he still manages to outdo himself. It’s just sometimes, I’m sick of taking care of everyone.”

John knows exactly how he feels. Both of them are tugged in three different directions: they help each other through panic attacks and migraines, they both try to pull Dave’s head out of his ass while he nearly works himself to death, and when Karkat needs someone, they’re the two he reaches for. “Can’t someone else do it?”

“If you’re trying to offer, don’t,” Sollux preempts him. “You’re… not the best person right now.”

All John hears when Sollux says that is that it’s his fault. “You can’t even ask Kanaya to step in?” John knows the two of them used to be close.

“She has her hands full with GZ right now, and he has his hands full with her right back. As much as this is bullshit, that’s festering spleenfowl remains.” He combs his fingers through John’s hair, then pulls him close to headbutt him. Gently. And he doesn’t move his head.

The warmth is actually kind of nice. The intimacy of it isn’t bad, either—John’s sharing his breath, they’re so close. Now he kind of understands why trolls do this. It’s not just locking horns, it’s also just a way to connect with someone, like Sollux is trying to touch John’s mind with his own in the only way they can. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” Sollux is right. Sorry isn’t going to undo what happened. “Stop that,” Sollux says again. “I can hear you regretting.”

“But—”

Sollux actually brings his thumb and forefinger up to John’s lips to press them together just so he can’t talk. “Shh, I’m trying to think.”

John knots his brows, and Sollux just pinches harder at that, like even that was audible to him. Instead of saying anything this time, John just headbutts Sollux the same way the troll headbutted him. That seems better. Maybe he’s picking up some troll culture after all. His forehead might be suffering for it, but two heads are better than one on a social problem of this magnitude.

Eventually, Sollux drops his hand. John already misses it at his mouth, even if it wasn’t particularly pleasurable. “JD?”

“Who?” Sometimes, Sollux’s nicknames are completely impenetrable to him.

“Your broodmate. What do you call her—sibling. Sister. Your sister,” he clarifies.

John’s even more confused. “What about her?”

“She knows KK pretty well, right?”

“Oh, jeez, does she ever,” John rolls his eyes. He shouldn’t be smiling, given how grave the situation is right now, but he can’t help it. “He was her patron, but he did nothing but troll her for basically a straight year. She got so pissed at him sometimes…” Karkat’s the only person John knows that’s pushed Jade into consistent allcaps.

“What about DV?” Sollux asks. “How is she with him?”

“It’s… complicated.” That’s the best way to describe ‘had a crush on each other when they were twelve, had a relationship as sprites, she tried to continue it when she merged with her sprite and he didn’t, he broke her heart and they broke up, things got horrible for a while, but that was all in a video game, and post-Crisis they’re close friends who have stupid nothing fights and make up over nail polish and shitty video games’. “She was his server player, and then there was some stuff, but I think they got over it pretty well. We’ve all grown up a lot.”

“Good.” Then, again, “Good. That might work.”

John’s actually disoriented when Sollux pulls his head away. “Are you still leaving?”

“Stop-gap,” Sollux explains, fiddling with his phone.

It’s amazing how John’s gaining the ability to interpret Sollux’s sentences, even when he a word or twelve. “Text me if you need me.”

“Hopefully not.” Sollux cocks his head, motions to John’s door with his horns. “Good luck with him.”

“Same to you.” They’ll both need it. Before Sollux can bolt, John pulls him close, leaves a hard and lingering kiss on his lips. “We’ll pick up where we left off. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” By the time Sollux reaches the end of the hall, he’s so absorbed in his phone that he walks straight into the door that leads to the staircase.

John’s really wishing he didn’t have to leave. He hasn’t been without him since that fragile moment earlier, and Sollux was a solid rock for him. Now John has to be a rock for someone else. He tries to be all smiles when he gets back in the room, though. “Sorry about that,” he says, maybe overly cheerful, but at least he’s trying.

Dave’s face-down on his bed, face smashed into his pillow, shades pushed up onto his forehead. “Go away,” comes out muffled.

“What’s wrong?” John pulls up a chair, knees bumping against Dave’s mattress as he scoots closer.

The other boy doesn’t even move, his voice completely flat when he speaks. “Nothing.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Of course. Trying to talk about feelings with Dave is useless at best.

John sighs, heavy and long. The remnants of smoke rustle in the bottom of his lungs. Dave hasn’t even commented on the smell, even though John himself is irritated at the stink of cigarettes by now. “Fine,” he says eventually. “We don’t have to talk.”

“Good.”

“Are you trying to sleep?”

“Yes.”

The single-word answers should have tipped him off by now. Dave doesn’t normally go to sleep this early. He’s usually not even tired. Ever. That he’s so exhausted right now as to go to bed before ten at night is a huge red flag. “Scoot over,” John tells him, shedding his shirt.

“No,” Dave says, somehow petulant even when he’s speaking in monotone.

John will just have to make him. His jeans go next, replaced by flannel pants, and he flicks off the light switch when he drops his dirty clothes in his closet. To be honest, he wouldn’t mind getting a little rest himself. It’s been a very long day. By the time he gets back to Dave’s bed, Dave has rolled over to face the wall, leaving him enough room to squeeze onto the mattress and wrap an arm around his best friend. They’ll both feel better in the morning—that’s the hope, at least.

\-- carcinoGeneticist  [CG] began trolling twinArmageddons  [TA] at 21:48 --  
CG: (get the fuck back here.)  
\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] is an idle troll! --  
CG: (please.)  
TA: what diid he 2ay?  
CG: HALF AN HOUR LATER.  
TA: contrary two popular 2ciience, my uniiver2e actually doe2n't revolve around you.  
TA: DV 2aiid he wa2 goiing two talk two you, what diid he 2ay?  
CG: HE BROKE UP WITH ME.  
CG: DID YOU TELL HIM?  
TA: ye2.  
CG: MIGHT AS WELL HAVE  
CG: HE WOULD HAVE FOUND OUT SOONER OR LATER.  
TA: ii diidn't thiink he would actually break up wiith you, two bee hone2t.  
TA: ii fiigured the 2 of you would ju2t paiil iit out untiil you ran out of fluiid2.  
CG: NO.  
CG: TRUST ME, I TRIED.  
CG: I TRIED SO HARD  
CG: AND GOT SO FAR  
CG: HE ACTUALLY SHOVED ME AWAY WHEN I TRIED TO TOUCH HIM  
CG: THAT'S HOW MUCH OF A REVOLTING AFTERBIRTH FROM THE MOTHER GRUB'S ELEVENTH SPHINCTER I AM.  
TA: ii don't get iit, he'2 2uch a fuckiing hypocriite.  
CG: THAT'S WHAT I TOLD HIM.  
TA: JB ii2 2o chiill about thii2 2hiit two, how ii2 DV 2o uptiight about iit?  
CG: IT'S NOT HIM, IT'S ME.  
CG: I'M THE ONE THAT FUCKED UP.  
TA: ii'm headed back two the room riight now, do you need anythiing?  
CG: COAGULATED FROZEN MOOBEAST JUICE.  
CG: AND CARTILAGINOUS NUB PAPER.  
TA: iit'2 that bad?  
CG: I THOUGHT HE WAS THE ONE, YOU KNOW?  
TA: 2ave the weepiie2 untiil ii'm there wiith your iice cream and tii22ue2.  
\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] ceased trolling carcinoGeneticist  [CG] at 22:24 --

\-- twinArmageddons  [TA] began trolling gardenGnostic  [GG] at 22:25 --   
TA: hii.   
GG: hi to you too!!   
GG: hows john? ;)   
TA: thii2 ii2n't about JB.   
GG: everythings good with him then?   
TA: everythiing'2 great, he had a paniic attack twoday but nothiing too horriible.   
GG: he had a panic attack???   
GG: thats not good at all!! :/   
TA: he'2 fiine now, don't worry about hiim.   
GG: its okay i didnt mean john in particular :P   
GG: i meant you and john together doing things   
GG: ;) ;) ;)   
TA: iinterrupted. not iimportant.   
TA: how clo2e are you wiith DV?   
GG: super close!!   
GG: i used to dunk him in the bathtub when he worked so hard he forgot to bathe   
TA: and KK, how clo2e are you wiith hiim?   
GG: ohhhh man karkat   
GG: i wont lie to you he used to annoy me a lot   
GG: but i think since we figured out we actually have things in common were a lot closer now :D   
GG: why are you asking me about them?   
TA: ii need 2ome help.   
GG: define help :I   
TA: KK and DV were iin a kii2me22iitude untiil about 2 hour2 ago.   
GG: yeah i knew about it :)   
TA: ii thiink everyone managed two piiece iit twogether except for JB.   
TA: ii 2aiid were becau2e DV broke up with KK over JB kii22iing KK earliier twoday.   
TA: two bee faiir, KK diid kii22 hiim back.   
GG: wait   
GG: wait wait wait   
GG: i think i need to make a diagram   
GG: you and john are doing the dating thing   
GG: karkat and dave were doing the hatedating thing   
GG: but john didnt know karkat and dave were doing the thing   
GG: dave kissed john a couple weeks ago and you seemed okay with it   
GG: john kissed karkat just now and nobody was okay with it   
TA: ii'm fiine wiith iit, ii told hiim 2peciifiically ii don't giive a 2hiit.   
GG: youre not just saying that??   
TA: ii genuiinely don't care, ii've never cared about other people'2 quadrant2.   
TA: he fe22ed up when ii a2ked hiim what happened, diidn't try two hiide iit or liie two me or anythiing.   
GG: i knew there was a reason why i liked you!!!   
GG: youre so good for john :DD   
TA: you were riight though, KK and DV were the oppo2iite of okay wiith iit.   
GG: karkats probably confused about the quadrants thing   
GG: if he would let it go he wouldnt be so freaked out right now!!   
GG: but no he has to slutshame everyone that doesnt follow his stupid arbitrary interpretation of what he thinks his culture wanted him to do >:(   
TA: ii keep telliing hiim two and he ju2t won't, he'2 ju2t makiing hiim2elf mii2erable at thiis poiint.   
GG: youre telling me :(   
GG: i dont know why dave would break up with him over this though??   
GG: that kind of makes him a huge hypocrite   
TA: that'2 what KK wa2 2ayiing, ii don't thiink that'2 the whole 2tory though.   
GG: you know what it might be?   
GG: dave isnt the center of karkats attention for once   
TA: ii2 iit that siingle romantiic optiion jealou2y thiing?   
GG: not quite...   
GG: its more like........   
GG: he wants to know hes important   
GG: so he has to be the only person the person hes seeing is seeing   
GG: no matter how many people hes seeing   
GG: in his stupid little birdbrain apparently this makes perfect sense :|   
TA: biirdbraiin ii2 riight, what a fuckiing piiece of work.   
TA: any chance ii could talk you intwo beatiing 2ome 2en2e intwo the2e iidiiot2?   
GG: you asked exactly the right person!!!!!   
GG: ive wanted to slap karkat stupid over his dumb anti poly anti human shit since school started   
TA: what about DV?   
GG: i think i can convince him of how much of a twoface jerk hes being   
GG: does that work for you??   
TA: what'2 your cla22 2chedule liike thii2 week, iit'2 probably better two take care of thii2 2ooner rather than later.   
GG: im free monday wednesday friday between 10 and 3 but then i have class until dinner   
GG: but i only have morning classes tuesday thursday   
TA: better two catch KK iin the eveniing2, he'2 2tiill nocturnal when he'2 2tre22ed and he'll probably 2kiip hii2 daytiime cla22e2 for the next few day2.   
GG: is dave still in the music building whenever hes not in class??   
TA: unfortunately ye2, JB 2ay2 he goe2 back two theiir room on two2day niight2 when comp2cii club meet2.   
GG: i can probably get them in couples therapy by thursday :P   
TA: good, KK'2 cryiing liike a liittle biitch over thii2 already and ii don't want two deal wiith hiim liike thii2 for long.   
GG: dont worry i got you!!! :D   
\-- gardenGnostic  [GG] ceased pestering twinArmageddons  [TA] at 22:52 --


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. There is now a blog! http://2x2verse.tumblr.com/  
> 2\. There is now a Dave-centric 8trax! http://8tracks.com/agent_florida/dave-strider-s-turntables  
> 3\. There is now a Karkat-centric 8trax! http://8tracks.com/agent_florida/karkat-vantas-s-vitriol

All this knocking at Karkat’s door hasn’t boded well for him recently. When the knocking starts up again, he’s definitely not in the mood, and he’s not dressed to receive, either. It’s too early for this bullshit, barely even dark out. “Password,” he grumbles from beneath his blankets.

The knocking stops for a second. “What?” comes from the other side of the door.

Karkat chucks a pillow at it, then burrows further into his sleep slat. “I said password, fuckass!”

The person on the other side of the door doesn’t skip a beat, just launches straight into a tirade. “Karkat, let me in before I shrink the door and shove it up your butt!”

Jade Atticus Harley. Of course. Who else would it be? Sollux is still at work, John’s probably studying for midterms, and Dave wants nothing to do with him. “Sorry.” His throat sounds like a frog died in it. “I didn’t know it was you. Give me a second.” He very carefully pulls his snuggleplane around his shoulders, shrugs out of bed, and unlocks the door.

The second it clicks, Jade’s already barging in. The light from the hallway is painfully bright, leaving him feeling like he just stared into the Alternian sun. She slams the door behind her so forcefully the echo reverberates through his chest. “You,” is all she says for a second, finger pointed at him like a gun. “You… you jerk!”

“I didn’t do anything!” It’s true. He hasn’t done anything for the past twenty-four hours besides sleep and cry like a grub over having the point of a spade pierced into his delicate feefees.

“Oh yes you did!” she’s quick to correct him. “You, you fucking—you trollist,” jabbing her fingernail into his chest, “quadrant-worshiping,” another jab, one that doesn’t hurt physically so much as psychologically, “anti-poly,” with every jab he takes a step back until she has him with the backs of his knees right back against his night cushion, “culture fetishist!”

That one actually pushes him over, his torso column against the mattress. If he wasn’t on the defensive before, he certainly is now. No self-respecting troll lets an aggressive adversary see their underbelly. Karkat rolls over, gets on all fours, raises his hackles, growls so low it thunders in his chest, and he knows none of this will intimidate Jade but he has to save face anyhow. “Leave me alone,” he threatens.

“No, I’m getting to the bottom of this,” Jade insists. “I want to know what you told Dave about troll stuff.”

“That’s none of your Earth business, Harley human Jade,” he snarls.

“You wanna bet?” He really, really doesn’t want to bet. “Dave’s convinced this is a first-come first-served kind of thing. Why the _hell_ would he think that?”

“Because that’s how it is!” Karkat says before he can correct his verb tense. “That’s how it _was_.”

“Not according to my sources,” Jade counters. The closer she gets to him, the smaller he feels. “You made us, you would know! We’re like little derivatives of you, with what you would call only _one-quarter the capacity_.” He can taste her sarcasm. “But we can opt out of the default. And so can you.”

The laugh that comes out of him is not mirthful in the slightest. “Who the fuck have you been talking to? Porrim? Just because she’s the village two-wheeled device in every single quadrant doesn’t mean it was like that—even on Beforus—and Alternia was different!”

“I’ve been talking to everybody! Tavros,” she ticks off on her fingers, “Kanaya, Gamzee, Feferi—“

“She was going to be the damned Empress, she could have taken _anyone_ to consort!” Karkat is painfully aware that all he’s doing is digging the hole deeper for himself, but when he’s cornered like this, the only thing he knows how to do is resort to ad hominem attacks.

“And Aradia agrees,” Jade mostly talks over him. “Trolls can be poly in a quadrant if they want, and they can straddle—“

“No they fucking can’t,” Karkat interrupts, hoping he can win this argument if he can just scream loud enough to drown out her voice.

Jade growls. Actually growls, the sound disturbingly accurate to the call of a barkbeast. “Why do you have to be so stubborn about this?

“Because I would have been culled if I wasn’t!” comes out of him so forcefully that it scorches his throat, leaving nothing but the taste of regret behind.

A wall of silence goes up between them. Jade steps back, like it’s palpable even to her. He probably shouldn’t have said that, but it’s the truth. “They would have killed you?”

“Executed me, yeah.”

Her mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. She doesn’t seem to know what to say. That wasn’t his intent, but at least he can get a little breathing space. Now that she’s not aggressing quite so vigorously, he can relax, flopping onto his stomach and curling his blanket closer around him. “For being poly?”

“For having hatched.” If they’d have known about his hemochrome mutation, that would have been enough. He’s surprised he can keep his voice this even, because whenever he talks about it, all he wants to do is cry. Ugh, he’s being such a pissgrub. And crying would have been a dead giveaway, his tears tinted with his color.

Jade sits down next to him on the bed. Her hand lands soft on his back, petting down his spine, and okay, yeah, that does feel pretty good. “You managed to survive, though,” she points out.

“By keeping my head down,” Karkat reminds her. “By being a model fucking citizen.”

Her hand lands in his thick, unruly hair, stays carefully away from his horns. The more she pets at him, the more he purrs. “I’m sorry,” she says, the words nearly lost under his revving motor.

“Don’t apologize. I don’t want to feel sorry for my shitty self over something that wasn’t my fault.” Or maybe it was. Karkat can’t tell, sometimes, what he was personally responsible for. The existence of himself, his friends, his ancestors—but the wildly divergent timelines? Another reason to hate himself.

“I still feel bad,” she offers him instead. Karkat understands that a little better. Trolls have no time for empathy, but they comprehend pity well enough. “I don’t know that much about what Alternia was like, but it sounded horrible.”

“Not for everyone,” he reassures her. “Just for me.” Because somehow, when grasping at straws, the universe had given him the fucking shortest stick imaginable.

“Someday,” she says, scratching behind his ears like he’s a barkbeast. His foot twitches involuntarily. “Someday you’ll have to tell me all about it.”

Karkat just boggles at her. “You seriously want to listen to my incomprehensible babble about a place that fucked me up for life?”

She nods.

So he tells her.

He tells her everything.

He tells her about the brooding caverns, about being adopted by a monster from another species. The beautiful, inhospitable environment where his hive was, the forest, the plains. Staying away from a sun that would have burned him alive. Learning how to tell time by the position of Verd and Purpurus, the perigee-months according to Verd’s green arc, the apogee-weeks marked by the violet progression of Purpurus. Getting into contact with the trolls who would play Sgrub with him. FLARPing endlessly, little grubs playing at war.

Somewhere in the middle, they break for dinner. In hushed tones in the dining hall, he tells her about the consequences of his mutation. The genetic memory he carried of his ancestor’s rebellion. The Condesce’s vendetta against any who would oppose her. How he used to say goodbye to Crabdad every day he went off to schoolfeeding, neither of them knowing whether he would make it home—because any papercut, any scraped knee, would have shown him for what he was.

Over brown pudding paste that’s delicious to Jade but flavorless to him, he tells her about schoolfeeding. The endlessly patient class of lusii that taught them the basics about troll society. The constant propaganda films. The formal encouragement to play games like Sgrub that would pit them against each other, teach them combat skills, but let them learn in a safer environment. The testing that was supposed to help them develop their aptitudes. After passing through schoolfeeding, he would have been assigned to a squad of five trolls, a squadron of twenty, and put through more martial training. The five of them would have had to learn how to work with each other to become more than the sums of their parts, their natural abilities shining through in every grueling circumstance. Based on that performance, he would have been given a job.

The dining hall closes, but they loiter on a bench just outside, leaves falling into their hair. He’d aspired to be a threshecutioner, if only to better disguise his caste—if anyone had seen candy-red on his person, they would have assumed it came from some mutant-blood he’d culled. More likely than not, though, he would have risen through the ranks to become a commander, in charge of the very conquering force that would have turned on him as soon as they knew his secret. Vriska already knew her calling as a pirate, piloting her own ship on five-year missions to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no troll had gone before. Gamzee would have become a subjuggulator, no questions about it, spreading his insane clown preaching to untold new planets and striking down any that refused to accept the gospel; his position was akin to instant sainthood, even deification, as temples to those idols rose on conquered worlds. Any sub-sentient life would have fallen under Tavros’s thrall; Aradia would have plundered their treasures, leaving no wealth for the indigenous.

Sollux, Karkat recounts bitterly, would have been enslaved, forced to steer a ship through the black. With his abilities, he was a prime candidate to replace the aging Helmsman on Her Imperial Condescension’s own battleship; the aging pilot would finally have been allowed to die after the Condesce had artificially prolonged his tortured life, and his moirail would have taken the other psionic’s place. When Jade asks why Sollux can so willingly throw off his culture’s mores, Karkat lets out a bark that could have been a laugh, if what Jade had said was funny. Sollux knew he was going to be collared and chained. He was painfully aware of his destiny. And he was also cognizant of the fact that so long as he was useful, he would never be culled. Which meant that he could be as hedonistic as he pleased, get into as much trouble as he wanted, because so long as he was young, so long as he had his autonomy, he was immune from punishment.

Karkat didn’t have that luxury. His destiny was to get culled if he so much as moved the claw of a prong out of line. It’s a duality that only Sollux truly appreciates.

They walk back to his dorm, the sky already showing the constellations he left in it to give guidance to John and his friends. He tells her about the absence of adults on his planet, the mandatory military conscription that extradited all eligible ranks to off-world combat. The four major solar systems Her Imperial Condescence had already conquered, each of them with their own races and planets and cultures—all of them assimilated, by choice or by force, into Her empire. The lifeless planets with endless resources that were strip-mined to their cores, then abandoned as galactic waste.

And there were so many other aliens the Condesce had conquered who were erased during the Crisis. The species of hydrocephalus heads that allied with the trolls and were rewarded for their efforts with slavery, used as on-board computers as ancillaries to a ship’s Helmsman. The digitigrade aliens with mandibles for prongs and nubs, spurs of bone jutting out from every joint. A race eerily similar to Earth’s raptors, a collar of feathers at their necks, but with ten times the cranial capacity.

Eventually, they’re back where they started, sort of cuddling on Karkat’s bed. Jade has her head in his lap, and he runs his fingers through her hair, over and over again. And Karkat tells her about how he learned about troll relationships. The carefully-censored assortment of movies showing culturally appropriate romances. The bumblings of his friends and, admittedly, himself as they grew up, grew together, grew apart. The absence of any sorts of role models who could have shown him how adults navigated the chaotic, sometimes even deadly, sea of pheromones and fornication.

His voice is so hoarse he can barely get the words out by the time he gets to the recurrent visions of his ancestor. A heretical world where feelings transcended the quadrants and love was terrifyingly real. And plural, not just the Signless and his Disciple but the prophet’s relationships with the Dolorosa, the Helmsman. It was strikingly impossible from his vantage point, not just for his culture but for himself. He betrayed the traitor, instead endorsing the cultural paradigm, because if he hadn’t, the society that should have aborted him would certainly have fixed the problem.

Karkat only shuts up once his voice is too scratchy to talk. Jade’s hair slips through his fingers like water, the same hue as his but definitely smoother. “I think you made us in your image,” she says idly. “Not exactly like you, but how you wish things had been.”

“Yeah,” comes out of him, mostly just breath at this point. “Not on purpose.”

“No, but I don’t think you could help it.” Jade shifts on the bed until she curves around his back, a parenthesis circling his pelvis. “The genetic memory, like you said.”

“You know what else it could be?” Karkat has to clear his throat before he’s at all intelligible. “The godtier thing.”

“Knight of Blood.” The more Karkat scratches her head, the more he can see her foot twitching. “Protector of relationships—ooh. Ooh, Karkat, that makes so much sense!”

“That’s what John said,” he whispers back, cringing.

“I know. It feels weird when John is right about things.” The wheeze that comes out of Karkat was probably supposed to be a chuckle. “Why do you keep trying to do the troll thing, though?”

“When you put it like that, it makes me sound stupid.” It’s hard to put it into words. While he thinks, he rubs the pad of his thumb against Jade’s temple, just inside the leg of her glasses. “It’s just… my culture. And it’s my fault it’s gone. Doesn’t matter if I don’t like it—there are so few of us left that I have to keep the memory of it alive, because no one else seems to give a shit.”

“But that’s what the dreambubbles were for, right?”

“That was the plan.” Karkat had been the one to spearhead the donation drive for all the trolls to surrender the coordinates of their dreambubbles. The theory was, they could piece together those memories into a coherent narrative of what Alternian society had been like. Everyone cooperated in the end, even the ones who needed a little persuasion, but once their private spaces were public domain, they veered away from troll practices and started acting more like humans. The reform school they’d been sent to after their arrival on Earth had emphasized assimilation, too. “Everything’s just been watered down.”

Jade hugs him around the waist. “You do realize that you don’t have to keep doing what doesn’t work for you, right?”

“But I have to,” gets caught in his throat; he coughs out the rest of it.

“No,” Jade tells him sternly, like he’s a baby barkbeast she’s disciplining. Next thing he knows, she’ll pull out a newspaper and start whacking him on the snout to get him to comply. “It didn’t work for you then. It doesn’t work for you now. You don’t have to be unhappy.”

“But—”

Jade reaches up and physically claps her hand over his mouth. “Shh,” she insists. “Let it go.”

He can see where this is going. “Jade, don’t.”

“Let it go,” she sings, the lyrics interspersed with giggles. “Can’t hold it back anymore. Let it go, let it go!”

“Please kill me,” Karkat mutters, taking his hand away from her hair to slap it against his forehead.

“I’ll stop once you admit I’m right,” Jade offers in a sing-song.

“Okay, fine, you’re right, please stop.” This isn’t helping him get his voice back.

Jade snuggles her face into his thigh and tries to quiet her laughter that way. It doesn’t work for a good thirty seconds, and Karkat can feel a smile creeping across his face. Damn this girl. “Just because I’m right doesn’t mean you’re wrong,” she points out.

“I don’t even know what that means.” When there’s two solutions to a problem, one of them is going to work better than the other. If Jade’s works better, that means his won’t work at all.

“John is the one who’s right about everything,” she says, looking up at him with bright eyes. “I’m just agreeing with him.”

“But Dave was wrong.” It’s important for Karkat to make this distinction.

“Dave was very, _very_ wrong,” Jade agrees. “Trust me, I’ll be having a looooooooong talk with him after this.”

“Why?” Then, when it sinks in, “You did this on purpose.” How did he not see it sooner? Jade just came in, whipped him into shape, and is trying to get Dave to reconcile with him. Holy bug-winged shit on a shingle, he and Dave have an auspistice.

Jade just smiles up at him. “I think you two had something really good going on. And if you two would just _talk_ about it—”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Karkat interrupts. Not after what he did. Dave made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t want to acknowledge his existence again. That’s how much he fucked up.

“I think you’d be surprised.” A chime sounds in the room. Jade pulls out her phone, looks at her hands, and mutters a curse word under her breath. “I’m so sorry, Kitkat, I have to go, Fef and I are…”

Karkat didn’t pick up that last part. “What did you say?”

Jade’s face goes a little pink. “Not important.” She uncurls, plants a kiss on his cheek. “Work it out with him!” is what she leaves him with.

Karkat’s not sure that’s possible. Now that she’s not here, he curls back in on himself, making a nest out of his snuggleplane. He wants to get back together with Dave. He misses the asshole. There’s something there neither of them can deny. At the same time, he was the one who messed it up. It’s up to him to apologize, to grovel at the human’s feet and convince him of a reason to give this a second chance.

Maybe if he can figure out a way to explain his own confusion, he can salvage this.


	21. Chapter 21

The one night of the week Dave’s guaranteed to spend in his own room doing work, and there’s a knock at the door. It’s probably not for him. More likely than not it’s Captor. “Egbert’s not here,” he tells the visitor.

“I’m not here for John, I’m here for you.”

Harley. That’s Harley. What the hell is she doing here? “It’s unlocked.” And he’s too lazy to actually get up to answer the door, preferring to sit at his computer.

The second she steps in, Dave knows something is wrong. She might not look possessed, but the last time he saw that gleam in her eyes, she’d gone grimbark. She’s not holding a sword this time, but a rolled-up newspaper. “You,” she enunciates, advancing on him, “are,” winding her arm back, “ _so_ ,” connecting with the side of his neck, “ _stupid!_ ” Harder, across his cheekbone.

He yanks his shades off his face to protect them from her anger and looks up at her, completely unguarded. “I’m sor—” It doesn’t even completely leave his mouth before she whacks him again. “Sorry,” and he doesn’t even know what he’s apologizing for at this point, “jegus fuck, would you stop that? I’m not a dog.”

“Of course you aren’t!” she says, all sweetness and light. “Dogs don’t _act so dumb!_ ” And she’s right back to hitting him, punctuating the second half of her sentence with blows to his shoulder, his ear, his collarbone.

“Okay, _ow_ ,” he says pointedly. He can feel the bruises blooming under his skin even now. “Why are you hitting me?”

“Because you’re a _hypocrite_ and a _tool_ and a big fat _idiot!_ ” That newspaper actually hurts. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you break up with Karkat?”

“Uh, because he fucking cheated on me?” Since when is that not a valid reason to break up with someone?

He gets the newspaper again. “Just because he kissed someone else doesn’t mean he _cheated_ on you!”

“Harley, you may not understand this,” he snarks, “but when two people fuck each other very much,” and he manages to get his arms up over his head before the newspaper connects this time, “they don’t fuck around with other people!”

“Karkat is a _troll_ ,” she points out, punctuating his species with a whack, “and you cheated on him _first!_ ”

“That wasn’t cheating, that was a different quadrant,” Dave whines. That is a valid reason. That is totally not an excuse.

For a second, Jade lets up. Dave drops his arms. Then she winds up and connects with his cheek like she’s trying to hit his head out of home field. “You don’t give a shit about quadrants!”

“Not in the face,” he says, too late, and cradles the hurt in his palm. “I don’t, I couldn’t give a single iota of a gold-plated shit about card suits, but _he_ does!”

“And he and John kissed anyway,” Jade points out. “You both care about John, you both kissed him, so why can’t you fucking work this out?

“Because Egbert is mine,” Dave finally blurts out, and immediately he claps his hands over his mouth.

Jade drops the newspaper. Her face softens, and she reaches out to circle her fingers around Dave’s wrists. He lets her pry his hands from his face; once they’re gone, she takes off his shades, too. Time to get serious, then. To make sure he’s looking at her, she cradles his cheeks in her palms and stares straight into his eyes. “Dave Marianne Strider, I want you to listen to me,” she enunciates clearly. “ _You don’t own people._ ”

That’s not what he meant. “But—”

“Shh,” she says, squishing his face up so he can’t get a word in edgewise. “You’re still John’s best friend. It’s not a first-come first-served thing.”

“But,” he tries again.

“ _I said listen!_ ” Jade snaps, and he’s not about to try that stunt again. “It’s not like somebody gets all used up on one person at once, Dave. They’re still a whole person. They don’t have to choose just one person to be in their life in any one way—they don’t have to split into fractions to fit everybody in. It’s not like John can only have one friend at a time, or one sibling or one boyfriend—“

“Um,” Dave starts to protest.

“No,” Jade says firmly, like she’s training a particularly disobedient puppy. “Listen to me. You and Karkat have had the same obnoxious stupid boy crushes on my brother since we were kids. Don’t even try to deny it.” Dave wouldn’t. It’s painfully obvious to everyone but the object of their affection. “I don’t get it. He likes both of you—enough to kiss you, enough to _risk ruining everything_. And you’re letting that come between both of you instead of bringing everyone together?”

She finally, finally lets go of his face. He feels sore under his skin, not just from where she’s hit him but from the bruises her words have teased out. “This is stupid,” he says.

“This is _very_ stupid,” Jade agrees.

“I’m sick of the quadrant bullshit, too.” That whole John thing just kind of forced everything to the surface too quickly.

Jade runs her fingers through his hair, like that action could soothe away all the hurt she just rained down on him. And damn her, it’s working. “I think Karkat is, too.”

“God,” he chokes out. “How did this get so fucked up?”

Jade keeps petting him. Maybe he is a dog after all. “It _is_ Karkat,” she points out, and he just snorts out a not-laugh. “I think he wanted it to be like a troll relationship, except that’s not how it worked out in the end.”

“He’s been doing the Texas two-step with a human,” Dave reminds her, “I don’t know what he was expecting.”

“Not this.” Harley hums to herself as she plays with his hair. Knowing her, it’s sticking up at about twenty different angles by now. “He’s having feelings, you know.”

“Shit.” Feelings. Feelings are too complicated. Dave was trying to keep this from being feelings-y. Trying and failing, apparently, because it’s not just from Karkat’s end, either.

“Can you really blame him?” Her smile is wicked and bright, and she indulges in a small giggle. “You’re easy to fall for.”

Thanks for dredging that up, Harley. Memories that don’t entirely belong to him are beating at Dave’s subconscious like a bird trapped in a cage too small to hold its wings. Maybe she can feel him wince, because her fingertips dig in a little harder, actually giving him a scalp massage. “Damn right,” he grumbles. “I still think he’s a fucking idiot.”

“Then the two of you are on the same page.” Jade’s finger voodoo is easing the headache Dave’s had since Sunday night. “You should talk to him,” she suggests. “Apologize.”

“Striders don’t apologize,” he counters.

“Trolls do,” she insists.

“Fine. He owes me one.”

Jade takes her hand back. Her glare could wilt sequoias. “You’re the one that ended it.” Every word cuts through him like a garrote through throats. “I’m not saying he didn’t do anything wrong—because he did, he should have at least given you a heads-up before he kissed John—but your reaction just made everything worse.”

Something inside of Dave sears like a bolt of molten steel when Jade brings it up again. It’s not rage, like when he first found out what happened. It’s just _devastatingly hot_. He never did ask how it happened, but now the vision’s blooming right under his eyelids: Karkat climbing into John’s lap, John’s hands closing around Karkat’s hips and nearly circling his waist, Karkat lacing his fingers behind John’s neck but keeping his claws away from sensitive human skin, John tracing Karkat’s lips with the point of his tongue, and he really shouldn’t find it this hot that his (okay, _fine_ ) boyfriend kissed his best friend and he doesn’t fucking care because he would pay billions of boondollars for a front row seat to the Vantas and Egbert show. “Should have given me a heads-up, yeah. He’ll run it past me next time.”

Harley actually makes a colon-capital-D face. “Then my work here is done!”

She’s halfway to the door before Dave realizes what she just said. What she just did, really. She just got completely ashen on their asses and whipped both of them into shape. “You little bitch,” he says, but he’s not so much angry with her as impressed she pulled one over on him. Besides, it’s kinda true. Female dog and all that.

“It worked, didn’t it?” She shrugs before she turns the door handle, but that motion won’t hide how victorious her grin is.

“Hey. Before you leave.”

Harley halts, then closes the door. “Mmhmm?”

She sounds testy again. “Are you done yelling at me?” That nod isn’t exactly reassuring, with how stiff it is, but it’s something. “I just wanted to float something by you real quick.”

“How quick is ‘real quick’?”

“Speed metal feelings jam,” he reassures her. “No more of this self-indulgent alt-rock twelve-minute-drum-solo bullshit.” They’ve already grooved pretty well through his personal defects in character, thanks.

With a flounce, she flops right onto Egbert’s bed, across from him. This time, when she rifles through her sylladex, she doesn’t pull out a strife specibus, but rather a plastic jewelry baggie with a few choice nugs in it. “Are you suuuuuure you don’t want a jangly douchebag folk-pop feelings jam?”

“Christ on a bike.” Jade Atticus Harley is a national treasure. “Whaddaya got for me?”

“This?” Jade bites her lip when she smiles, and matching dimples bloom on her cheeks. Anyone as hardcore 420 as she is has no right looking that damn cute talking about her kush. “I crossed ruderalis with an indica-heavy hybrid. There’s a few Alternian grass genes spliced in there, too. This batch I grew hydroponic, but I think it takes too long for the quality. It doesn’t have a name—I don’t even know if I’ll keep it, the balance is off.”

Dave whistles, long and low. Most of that sailed right over his head, but it sounds pretty intense. “Tell you what, gimme a sample and I’ll get back to you on that.”

“Not now?” Jade’s actually pouting. If Dave were ever elected president, his first executive action would be outlawing her puppy-dog eyes.

“Sorry.” Dave shrugs. “Not all of us are as green as you.” Her weed tends to fucking incapacitate him. “’Preciate the, uh. Olive branch, though.”

“Fiiiiiine,” she drawls out in an exaggerated sigh, rolling her eyes but still grinning as she glitches the herb back into her sylladex. “Did you wanna groove this out, or…?”

She knows him so well. He always does better with his words when he’s distracted by music, harder to hide his feelings when they’re leaking into his beats. For a good minute, he strongly considers it. But if she’s right—and she always fucking is, god damn it—he needs some practice keeping the sarcasm out of his raw speech. “Nah,” he dismisses the idea. “It’s just a gender thing.”

Before he can stop her, she’s pulling her eclectic bass out of thin air. Okay, maybe it is a big deal. “Shoot,” she says. She plucks a string, starts tuning it to her specifications.

“Okay.” He can totally say this. She’s not looking at him but at her instrument. The low note resonating in the room comforts him, thrumming through his bones. “Thing is, I kinda like being a girl.”

“Being a girl?” This is the kind of neutral, therapeutic-style echoing Lalonde would do, but it doesn’t chafe his asshole near as much when it’s coming from Harley. She moves up a string, letting a note sound before fiddling with this one’s machine head.

“I don’t know what else to call it,” Dave admits. “Uh… here. Remember when we first got out of the game and we had people hounding us day and night for autographs and pictures and Egbert fell off the face of the earth for, like, six months?”

Jade snorts. “Do I ever!” This string is giving her trouble. She plucks it again, twiddles the peg. Still not quite tuned.

“I guess that was his thing for getting the paparazzi off his case, but it meant he couldn’t go out and do anything, he was just stuck at home all day. Like he was grounded or something.” Not even Dave could see him until he’d passed whatever test his dad was handing out. Rough stuff. “That would’ve driven me batshit cray-cray. I mean flying rodents and massive amounts of guano insane.”

“I never had to deal with that on my island.” Finally, she moves on to the next string. She’s satisfied with that pitch almost immediately.

“You also didn’t know what ice cream was until you were sixteen,” Dave points out over the angry twang of a string. “I actually wanted to have a life and go outside and be a kid and shit. And, y’know, it really didn’t fucking help that I had an ectodoppel with my name, my face, my talent—” No. This isn’t about that fucking imposter. Dave takes in a deep breath, lets it out slowly, nostrils flaring. “Point is, I’ve always been a pretty popular commodity, but after that, I just wanted to be normal, nahmean? Go to 7-11 and get a Slurpee every so often. Take my camera to the city and work on my portfolio.”

Harley hums the pitch she wants, thumbing at this string. It doesn’t want to go. “How’d you get away from the reporters?”

“Very carefully,” he deadpans. Without a computer or a turntable or a camera to keep his hands busy, his fingers twist in on themselves; he keeps his eyes on them, in his lap, and starts idly flicking off his nail polish. “I tried the shades—they didn’t work. Kinda the opposite. That’s one of the ways they could pick me out of a crowd. I tried clothes, but trying to wear a sweatshirt in Houston is like telling Satan it’s too cold in Hell and could he just up the thermostat a few thousand degrees.” He is absolutely shredding his nails by now. “So I kinda made a list of what they recognized about me.” To stop himself from peeling off everything, he uses his fingers to tick off his own traits. “Shades. Blond hair. Graphic tees. Black skinnies. Chucks. Skinny boy. Well, what’s something they would never look for? What’s the opposite of that?”

“A girl,” Harley says, ripping out a finely-articulated arpeggio.

Dave laughs. It’s not funny. “The height of irony, right?” His thumbnails are bare. “I got really good at makeup, put a few clips in my hair, started wearing pink, and went outside sans eyewear. And those schmucks were dumb enough to fall for it. Must’ve thought I was Dave Strider’s hot girlfriend or someshit.”

The arpeggio repeats, then morphs into a White Stripes bassline. “So it’s a cross-dressing thing?”

That’s the stick. “Not exactly.” The more Harley gets her groove on, the more he wants to get her input on his laptop. At least she’s not staring at him. “I kinda liked being, y’know. Somebody else for a while. An alter ego I could wear like a suit of armor or a set of pajamas. I told them my name was Deedee and they just kind of left me the fuck alone.” Now his index fingers are naked, too. “And I look fucking amazing as a chick. Hell, I’d do me.”

Jade’s laugh rings like a cascade of church bells over the deep rhythm she’s set up. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“Because I’m perfect,” he insists, and she only giggles harder. “No, but seriously. It started as this other person, but the more I did it, the more I was like. I—I like.” This part’s more difficult. “Well. Painting my nails and tarting myself up and wearing panties and getting misgendered. It stopped being ironic and just started being a thing that I did because I wanted to. And I…” This was dumb. It was stupid to talk about this. Especially with Harley. Dave is very aware of his tongue. “I’m still, y’know. One hundred percent dude over here, but maybe with an extra fifty percent pretty pretty princess. Or something. I don’t know.”

Harley keeps grooving. At least there’s something to fill the silence that thickens between them. Then, “Huh,” she huffs out, blowing her fringe away from her forehead. Her fingers fumble as she switches to a new riff. “I was wondering why I felt so ambiguous about your penis.”

If Dave had been drinking, he would have just sprayed apple juice all over her. “You gonna explain yourself?”

“It’s nothing,” Jade says, and she smiles quietly to herself. “Sooooo… GQ?”

“Heck yeah, motherfricker, you ever seen me? I’m a GQMF.” He’s a Strider. It runs in the family.

“Noooo, I meant genderqueer, silly!” She actually, literally, physically sticks her tongue out at him. Dave didn’t know it was possible to do emoticons in person.

Genderqueer. That’s a word. That he could use. Maybe. If he wanted to. He’s down to his ring fingers by now, scratching off the veneer. “Fuck gender,” he mutters. “Yeah. That’s it. Genderfuck. I don’t give a shit, I just wanna do what I like.”

Harley hums her assent as she tries that riff again. “He-him-his okay for pronouns?”

“Fucking excuse you, you will address me as Your Majesty,” Dave says with mock indignity, and that just sets off Jade in a peal of laughter again. “I seriously don’t care. I mean, I’m still a guy. I just have all this other shit. I’m like three hundred percent of a person right now.”

Jade looks up at him for the first time in this conversation. “You do realize you’re Sollux’s wet dream, right?” Her eyes are alarmingly bright.

“One of these days I’m gonna be able to follow your non-sequiturs,” he promises her, “but it’s not gonna be for a while.”

“Don’t worry about it.” She smiles that Mona Lisa smile again, puts her bass away. “Have you told anybody else?”

“Just you, but I think Bro and Egbert have pretty much figured it out by now.” He’s lived with both of them, and it’s not exactly something he keeps super-secret. It’s just that he doesn’t talk about it.

She closes the distance between them and kisses him gently on the forehead. “You should tell Karkat.”

“After what I pulled? Yeah, no.” That’s not going to be a thing that happens. “I think he’d rather punch out all my blood than listen to anything I have to say.”

“Give it a shot,” Harley suggests, practically sashaying out the door. The last thing she calls back is, “Or else!”

The door slams shut. Dave puts his face in his hands. His chest hurts. To tell the truth, he’s kind of missed that piece of shit over the past few days. Karkat pulls his head out of his ass and lets him put it in his ass, two very important qualities for Dave. And, well, yeah, okay. Maybe there are some feelings involved.

This is worth saving.


	22. Chapter 22

“No, Harley,” Dave tells Jade, “you don’t fucking get it.”

All Jade does is take Dave’s hand in hers and blow on his nails. She just put the topcoat on his new manicure (an OPI limited-edition shade, Coca-Cola Red, fuck yeah consumerism and chat color) and neither of them want to get fingerprint marks in it before it’s had a chance to dry. They’ve done this before, mostly in high school. This is the first time he’s had the, uh. Pleasure of sitting on her futon, surrounded by her anthro art posters, while she pampers him. Her own nails are already perfectly crushed-ruby glittery red, her accent nail in black and white stripes—that are only even because he helped her with her off hand. “All I’m saying is,” she says again, “nothing fell apart until John walked in and both of you wanted him at once. You two are knights, you spent years together, you have got to work this out—“

“I know,” boy does he know, both of them are like dogs with a bone at this point and neither of them want to let go first, both of them want to protect this optimistic head-in-the-clouds fucking moron and neither of them want to step aside, “but I’m telling you, he doesn’t wanna talk to me.”

“He loves you,” Jade insists. “Everything is going to be fine if you two just talk—”

A quick rap on the door makes both of them turn towards it. “Jade?” says a familiar raspy voice.

Dave’s stomach somehow manages to leap up into his throat and fall out through his pelvis simultaneously. It just leaves him feeling like he might paint her shag carpet with various shades of puke. Wide-eyed, he turns to her, mouths ‘oh god no’ at her, tries to communicate wordlessly now that he doesn’t have his shades in his way. No, no, why is he, why is Karkat here, why did she do this, she did it on purpose, did it so that his nails would still barely be wet when the troll got here and she’d force them to get in the same room and somehow not claw each other’s eyes out, how does she expect this to work?

But that goddamn witch, all she does is cheerfully say “it’s open!” That, and gives him a glare that clearly says ‘behave.’

Karkat bumbles in, waving hello to Jade—and then. Then he sees Dave. His eyes narrow. His nostrils flare. His brow tenses. His shoulders hunch. If he were a cat, he’d be bristling. “What the fuck is he doing here.” It’s not a question, just an accusation.

“Karkat.” Her voice is imploring. She drops Dave’s hands, springs up from the couch, cradles Karkat’s face, butts her forehead up against his. (Since when is she so good at trollspeak?) “This is between you and him. You need to talk about this. I’m just here to make sure you two don’t hurt each other.”

“He hurt me first!” Karkat insists, at the same time as it comes out of Dave’s mouth.

Fuck this guy. Fuck this guy for being his perverted trollish mirror image, the warped funhouse reflection of everything he hates about himself. Fuck this guy for knowing how to wound him deep where it doesn’t show but hard enough that everyone knows. Fuck this guy even harder for making him wax lyric when all he wants to do is shut down and stay a cynic. Fuck. _Fuck._ He can’t stop.

This is what Karkat does to him. It’s called a crush because he feels like he can’t breathe around him. Like the room’s gone up in flames and the two of them are just choking down lungfuls of smoke because they’d rather watch it burn together than fight it apart. Pulse, clockwork. Heat, haze. And he never realized how incendiary it was until he drew back and realized he was already burned. Bad.

All of this washes over him at once like Karkat is a volcanic eruption and this is lava searing as it meets the sea. Something seismic, anyway, because Karkat’s looking at him like he wants to crush his bones in his hands and then cry straight into the dust that’s left. A goddamn natural disaster.

“I,” Dave starts, then realizes for the first time in his life that he has nothing to say. “I may or may not have fucked up.” Jade glares at him. “Signs point to yes,” he corrects himself. “I—”

“You broke up with me,” Karkat says quietly, like he has to speak around a mouthful of glass.

“No,” Dave says, as much to contradict Karkat as to actually move the conversation in a productive direction. “I didn’t—I did not break up with you.”

“Then what the fuck was that?” Before Karkat can lunge forward, Jade puts a hand out. Her fingertips land on his chest. He takes a deep breath in, lets it out, but no weapons come out. Still just having a conversation.

Honestly, it would probably be better if they just fought. Dave could let him win and then they’d fuck and they’d be back to normal. But no, get a human auspistice into a human-troll kismessitude and all of the sudden everybody has to talk about **_~feelings~_**. Dave almost rolls his eyes before remembering that without the shades, Karkat would be able to see. “What I said was,” he enunciates clearly, “and you can roll the tapes on this if you want, but I said I couldn’t deal with the bullshit right then.”

Jade doesn’t have to restrain Karkat quite so much now. Dave can’t help but notice how Karkat’s hands keep clenching and unclenching. “You do realize,” Karkat points out, and his eyes add all the vehemence his voice can’t, “that half the moobeast manure was your making?”

“Let’s just call a spade a fucking spade—” Karkat’s eyes go pitch and Dave has to swallow hard before he either punches him in the face or jumps his bones—“the bullshit is called John Katharine Egbert.”

From what might as well be a different planet entirely, Jade makes a tsking noise. “So neither of you are going to take responsibility for anything that went wrong?”

“Don’t fucking rush this, Harley.” How can he put this in a way she understands? “On a scale from one to the moon, we’re still in fucking launch status check. We’re at, like, t-minus twenty minutes. Thanks for the theory, ground control, but as it turns out we can’t teleport straight to the Sea of Tranquility.”

“I’ll fucking teleport _you_ to the Sea of goddamn Tranquility in a minute,” she mutters, the idle gnawing of a dog on a bone, but she does back off, dropping her hand from Karkat’s sternum. That’s not an idle threat, either. When she’s really pissed, she’ll exile people to outer fucking space for time-outs. Dave once got on the bad side of a tantrum and ended up on Pluto. When he asked her when he’d be coming back, her answer was, ‘When Pluto’s a planet again, assbutt.’ She doesn’t fuck around.

Of course, this little interlude means Dave lost his train of thought. “Where was I in chewing you out?”

“John Katharine Egbert is an emotional terrorist who must be stopped at all costs,” Karkat says dryly.

“Right. Egbert. That. So do you—” Dave has to clear his throat before the sentence will come out right. Like the words are trying to choke him. “Do you still, uh.” Coughs. “Have that crush on John?”

For a second, Karkat just stands there, staring him down, his mouth hanging half-open like Dave just punched him in the gut instead of asking him a question. Then, when it’s clear Dave is serious, Karkat drops his eyes to look pointedly at his right shoe. “Yes,” he admits, like Dave pulled the word out of his mouth with a pair of pliers and a shot of Novocain.

“Cool.” It’s not. Dave has no idea what to do with that now that it’s out in the open. His boyspritmesis-thing has totally been carrying a torch for some other dude. “Were you gonna, I don’t know. Tell me about it at some point?”

“Thought it went without saying,” the troll mumbles. There’s color on his cheeks. Fuck, is he actually embarrassed? “You didn’t have to tell me, I still knew.”

“What are you talking about?” Karkat’s right, but that’s not the point. Dave has spent his entire life building up a persona unable to be penetrated by mere mortals. His pokerface is the stuff of myths. And he has spent long enough around the civilization-bending monolith that is John Egbert to be nearly immune to that boy.

Nearly. So close. Because there are still the Monday-morning ebubbles pictures Dave manages to snap of John waking up, eyes unguarded and half-open, one arm lazily behind his head, the other scratching at his stomach, his raw musculature cut into manageable portions by the light filtered through the shitty dorm-room blinds—and maybe sort of a peek at albeit-flaccid goods through the button fly of his sleep pants. The fact that, no matter how often John does the laundry, Dave’s sheets still smell like him. How Dave would do literally anything to make this chucklefuck laugh, because that smile will be the death of him—fuck, it’s like John deliberately tries to show off all 32 of his perfect just-slightly-crooked still-bucktoothed chompers whenever he grins.

Fact of the matter is, Dave’s got it bad. It buries him six feet under with a headstone that says ‘beloved just-friend’ and an obituary that reads ‘cause of death: uncontrollable heart palpitations.’ But if that’s all John wants from him, he’ll do it. He’ll do it and fucking stab himself through the chest with a sword, skewer his internal organs in a pretty little Strider kebab, rather than see John upset or uncomfortable about anything. “I thought me and him were moirails,” Dave says instead, because that’s easier than saying ‘I’ve been in love with the dorky mayor of Accidental Douchebagsville since before it was cool.’

“Like Eridan and Feferi were,” and okay, that hurts. Even Jade hisses at that barb. “Sorry,” he grumbles, and although it sounds like he didn’t want to say it, he clearly means it.

A moment of silence. Dave hates silence. “So,” he drawls out. “Should I get some four-gauge shotguns so we can stuff and mount the fucking elephant in the room, now we got it out in the open?”

“Dave,” and Karkat looks him dead in the eye, straight down the scope and shooting to kill, “he didn’t choose us.”

It hits Dave in the solar plexus like a rubber bullet from a riot gun. Because John—John didn’t choose either of his best friends. He chose his best friend’s roommate instead. Like he shot for the moon and settled for the stars. Or something. Dave holds his hand over his mouth. “Houston, this is Derse 413, T-minus ten seconds, go for main engine start.”

“Could you just focus for one fucking—”

“You’re Houston,” Dave tells Jade, just in case she didn’t get the joke. Point is, the two of them are starting to get to the meat of the problem. No more of this amuse-bouche, appe-teasers bullshit. Time to dig in and chow down and chew the fat. Wait. Mixed metaphors. Back on track, Strider. “Bullshit he didn’t choose us—maybe not me, but he sure as hell chose you.”

“So you’re jealous,” Karkat suggests.

“Don’t tell me how I feel,” Dave shoots him down. Not like he could put a name to it if he were asked. Nausea is the closest thing. Vertigo, maybe. Like he’s not quite sure which direction gravity is coming from. Maybe that’s jealousy after all. He does feel a little green around the gills. “Point is, push comes to shove, who are _you_ gonna choose, huh? Me or him?”

“Aaaaaaand we have lifdoff,” Jade says to herself, rolling her eyes.

Karkat’s eyes snap up to find his. “What did you just—repeat what you just said.”

“It’s a simple fucking question. Not my fault if you weren’t listening.”

“Dave,” Jade barks out.

That’s the sound that precedes a newspaper whacking. Dave knows better than to be a smart-ass when she uses That Tone. “Who are you gonna choose, Karkat?” This is first-names territory. This is serious business.

Something gets set on fire behind Karkat’s eyes. He takes a step closer. Jade instinctively reaches out to keep him from aggressing, but there’s something different in the way he’s advancing now. His footsteps aren’t quite so heavy. He’s not trying to get one over on Dave like he would during a strife. Instead, he keeps his hands where Dave can see them, palms outward, and Jade lets him keep going. “Dave,” he says, voice rasping like honesty rubbed against a kitchen mandolin. “I don’t want to feel like I have to choose.”

“That does _not_ sound like you, bruh.” Karkat’s usually gung-ho about everybody’s actions have consequences.

“It wasn’t me,” he admits. “John—he said that, he said he didn’t want to have to choose between spending time with Sollux and spending time with me. Or you. Or any of us. And he—I think,” and he looks like he’s about to puke, “I think he was _right_.”

“But you have to choose,” Dave says, and not just because he can’t accept the fact that Dweebmaster General knows more than he does. “It doesn’t work like that.”

Jade looks about to leap into the fray— _it’s not like somebody gets all used up on one person at once_ —but Karkat steps in front of her. Rests a hand on Dave’s shoulder, then runs it up to caress his neck, feel out his jaw. “You can’t choose who you love,” he whispers, eyes carefully closed.

“Are you—” Dave’s mouth is dry. “Are you saying—are you trying to tell me—”

“Shut up,” Karkat grits out, and kisses him instead.

That doesn’t work with Dave. He’ll talk anyway. All he needed was somebody else’s spit to whet his tongue. “Rr nn lfff wff mm?”

“Time out for the idiot,” Karkat announces. “The idiot gets a time out and shuts up for a second. That’s you. No, _shut up_ ,” and he bodily has to clap his hand over Dave’s mouth to get words from spilling out. “This isn’t something you just fucking choose. I don’t want to. I can’t. Or I already did, I don’t know how this works. But if you can’t—if you—I—“ He stutters for a second, then inhales deep. “I _fucking hate you_ , you unmitigated moron, and I’m not letting this go without a fight.”

Dave huffs out a breath against the back of Karkat’s hand, parts his lips to graze his teeth along his palm. Not enough to hurt, just enough to startle. Karkat draws back like he’s been burned. “So, uh.” He can’t concentrate when Karkat’s staring at him like that, with that light in his eyes. “You’re choosing me?”

“Have you listened to nothing I’ve said?” erupts out of Karkat’s mouth. Before he can get too out of control, Jade gets a hand on his shoulder. Instead of shrugging her off like he usually would, he just puts a hand over hers. “This,” he says quieter, “this isn’t Alternia.”

“Yeah, I got that.” Dave’s armor is sarcasm.

Karkat squeezes Jade’s hand; she drops it, and instead he sits on the futon next to Dave. “And this isn’t the Earth you grew up on, either.”

“You’re shitting me.” Well, he’s half-serious. Most of it seems the same, even though there are three hundred percent more sentient species complicating everything.

“I mean it,” Karkat says. “This is an entire new world we were left with. And we—we made this, didn’t we? We were gods once. We still get to—we made this world so we get to write the rules.”

The problem, right now, is that Dave agrees with everything Karkat is saying. It’s so much easier when they disagree. “I guess,” he grumbles.

“In this world,” he keeps going, “I don’t get culled for existing, and you don’t get called a freak, and John’s a hero and Sollux isn’t a ship and everything is actually fucking okay for the first time ever.”

“What’s your point?” Dave snaps.

“Things don’t have to be screwed up.”

“Are you trying to apologize?”

“Why do you have to go from zero to douche in the blink of a fucking glance nugget,” Karkat grumbles. “I already said I was sorry. I shouldn’t have—I should have at least—I fucked up.”

“And, uh.” Dave clears his throat. He can feel Jade staring at him. “I kinda overreacted. I guess.” That’s the closest to an apology that will actually come out of his mouth. “I mean, if you’d’ve told me—”

“I didn’t know!”

“Just—” Why must it be so hard to talk about feelings. Dave can’t tell whether it’s a Y chromosome thing or his own personal emotional illiteracy. “Next time, I want a ticket to the Egbert and Vantas variety hour. Front row, middle seat. Your personal heckler when you’re necking.”

Karkat makes a noise that doesn’t quite leave his throat. “You want to _watch_?”

“Yeah, I mean.” Dave just shrugs. “He’s _mine_ —you’re _mine_ , you’re both _mine_ —”

Karkat tackles him down to the shitty padding of the futon and mashes his mouth against Dave’s.

“Dude,” Dave tries to say, but it’s muffled against Karkat’s lips as the troll tries to fuck the words out of his mouth with his tongue. “Dude, what—”

“You want to _watch_ ,” Karkat whines helplessly. When he rolls his hips down against Dave’s, Dave can feel a lump at one side of his hip. Holy shit, that’s how touchy Karkat is about the whole voyeurism, exhibitionism, thinking about his friends having sex thing. Reconciliation is a go, apparently those were the magic words. Not ‘I’m sorry,’ but ‘let me watch you macking on my best friend who I also completely adore.’ It’s good they mean the same thing in this case, because Dave can’t quite say the s-word in ordinary circumstances without involuntary facial tics.

“Um,” Jade says from the area of roughly not relevant anymore.

‘I don’t know,’ Dave mouths at her over Karkat’s shoulder. Then the troll sinks the points of his fangs in the soft flesh under his jaw and he blurts out “Jegus fuck” like he has sex-induced Tourette’s. He can feel his blood in Karkat’s mouth. With his heart racing as fast as it is, he can’t tell whether he’s going to ‘frightening as dicks’ or ‘apocalyptically hard’.

“I’m just gonna,” Jade trails off, motioning towards the door. Never mind that this is her room and she has every right to be here.

“Don’t,” Karkat rasps out. “Stay.”

“But I,” she stutters out. “You,” and the motion she makes with her hands is both childish and incredibly inappropro.

Karkat turns his laser-guided focus right on Jade. Dave’s glad to be out of the wilting spotlight for a second. It’s hot under there. He gets sweaty. Feels like he’s about to give a performance and he’d better live up or the crowd will never cheer or clap or dance. “You’re our auspistice, right?”

“Right,” but her brow furrows. She knows admitting this is the first step in whatever slippery-slope logic Vantas is trying to bury her in.

“So you have to make sure that the two of us don’t kill each other.” There’s something like a growl under Karkat’s voice, almost like he’s trying to talk through a purr.

“Right,” more hesitant this time, crossing her arms over her chest.

“He still might kill me,” Vantas points out, and not entirely unreasonably.

“Right,” she draws out.

Then Karkat locks her in: “So you have to stay, right now, to make sure he doesn’t kill me.”

Dave’s bullshit meter is going haywire. From what Harley’s broadcasting right now, hers is too. From what Vantas has told him, he’s ninety-nine percent sure that being ashen with someone has nothing to do with watching them fuck. “Karkat,” is all she says to that.

He lets out this horrible mash of bug sounds and consonants curled around vowels that don’t exist in English. One of these days, Dave is going to learn how to speak mangled Alternian and dirty talk Vantas until he cries. Until then, he has no idea what’s going on.

“You asked so nicely!” Jade grins and reaches behind her to lock the door before she sits in her computer chair and swivels it so her gaze is fixed firmly on the two of them.

Okay, there’s something Dave’s missing here. “What did he just say?” he manages to get out before Karkat’s fingertips creep up his shirt, find a nipple, and pinch.

“Please,” Jade tells him.

“You cheeky fuck,” Dave growls at Karkat, “you told me there isn’t a word in Alternian for ‘please’.” In retaliation for the glance of claws across his skin, Dave shoves his hands up the back of Karkat’s shirt, curls his fingers into claws, and digs his freshly-shellaced nails into Karkat’s tough sharkskin back, too sharp for humans to withstand but hopefully enough to leave four perfect pink-tinged tracks down either side of the troll’s spine.

Karkat _growls_ against his throat, reaching down for two firm handfuls of patented Strider plush rump. The way he crashes into Dave’s body, it’s like he thinks the two of them will shatter if they don’t collide so violently. “Like hell I’m begging for anything from you,” he snarks.

“You don’t have to say a damn word to be a raging cockslut,” Dave reminds him in a perfect hiss, closing his teeth around an earlobe and pulling none-too-gently. Karkat’s weight over him acts as an anchor, keeping him from drifting too far from this. Everywhere his hands have been feels like it’s on fire.

Jade exhales, slow and shaky. When Dave looks over, she has her legs crossed violently, once at the knees and again at the ankles, and she’s shifting in her seat like she’s the only one with the answer and the professor isn’t counting raised hands. Jiminy kringkefucking Christmas. She looks like she’s about to say something, except she’s biting her lower lip so hard Dave’s surprised it’s not bleeding.

Karkat’s not stupid; he notices when Dave’s not paying attention. When he follows his eyes, his face splits in a predatory grin. “You want to join in?”

“No,” she and Dave say simultaneously. No, no, bad idea, and all sorts of unfortunate memories unfurl in places of Dave’s skull he doesn’t like to think about. “I’m not really into—” she starts to explain.

“Penis,” Dave supplies for her.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” she pouts. “I’d be fine with yours if—”

“So that’s a no,” Karkat surmises.

“But I still _need_ to stay?”

“He wants you to watch,” Dave says, then yelps as Karkat digs his claws into his hips and humps desperately against him.

Jade’s breath is heavier this time, with more of a sound behind it. “I’m not entirely averse to this,” she admits, “but can I—”

“I don’t give a lumpsquirting fuck if you close your eyes and plug your ears and ignore we exist except for hellish death shrieks,” Karkat erupts with. “For all I care you could have some quality autoerotic flap fondling, just don’t you dare leave or I will personally ensure that your barkbeast lusus will drool on you in your sleep.”

“Stage one rockets disengage, full power to stage two,” Harley says, and shoves her hand down between her thighs.

Okay, yeah, that is a little hot. It’s not like Dave hasn’t seen her nakey-nakey-eggs-and-bacey before, but it’s totally different when she’s holding him steady with her eyes while Karkat systematically deconstructs him and analyzes his parts so he can learn how to put him back together better and stronger. Maybe this time without anything jamming his gears or gumming up the works.

Trying to pay attention to multiple things at once is hard. It’s hard and no one understands. Dave’s dick, too, is impressively tumescent, pressing eagerly against the fly of his jeans. Karkat’s hands meet his crotch when he presses his hips up, massaging little circles into it and making Dave’s head fall back against something that’s not quite padded enough to keep it from feeling like he just brained himself on a jail cell door.

“I want to,” Karkat’s saying idly, muttering under his breath, not loud enough that Harley can hear but at a level that sets Dave’s bones alight, “fuck, Strider, all I want to do is _ruin_ you for what you did.”

It wouldn’t be entirely unmerited. With some distance from the issue, Dave can admit to himself that he was being an ass about the whole thing, and with Karkat’s body grinding so hungrily against his it’s hard to remember the specifics of the dispute. Still, “I don’t think you can,” he says instead, and his mouth twists into a one-sided sardonic grin as he raises an eyebrow.

Karkat rears back. For three heart-stopping seconds, Dave’s afraid he’s about to get punched in the face. Fuck it. He wears dark circles under the eyes well, what’s a shiner among friends? “Fuck you,” he says instead, so full of vitriol he’s trembling with it, spittle frothing around his teeth.

Dave just arches his eyebrow higher. “Like to see you try.”

That was either the complete wrong or the absolute right thing to say. Karkat rakes his claws down Dave’s chest and shreds his shirt. The two of them are practically made of money, Dave can always get a replacement, but it’s that he’s got someone hovering over him that wants his body so badly that he’s willing to destroy a wardrobe that has him trying to get friction from the chafing denim at his crotch.

Harley makes a sound like she’s being strangled. Out of the corner of his eye, Dave can see her fists clenched in her long skirt as they pull it up her legs and that’s—her panties are already soaked. Hell, so are his, a wet patch right up against the head of his purple-headed womb ferret. Karkat’s about to find that out, too, because he’s working on the button and fly of his skinnies and—“The fuck is this.”

“Panties. Keep up.” Dave pulls Karkat’s head down and kisses him so hard their teeth clack.

Trying to get out of jeans that are practically painted on is hell and a half. Somehow, with a lot of tangling and cursing and limbs akimbo, Karkat wrestles the offending items off of Dave’s frame, and then it’s just him in his underwear with a fully-clothed troll hovering over him. Shit. He may or may not be in over his head here. His chest goes a little sideways with the hard, bright way Karkat’s looking at him.

Vantas shoves his pants down around his hips and his bulge is already straining out, slick-ripple searching for an answering heat. When he closes his hands around Dave’s biceps and lowers down again, it smears eagerly against the inside of Dave’s thigh. Fuck, he never knew he could be sensitive there, how is that fucking fair? His legs twitch further together on instinct and Karkat’s bulge just writhes wet-sloppy between them.

His muscles aren’t strung onto his bones quite right; everything’s so shivery Dave can’t get a good handle on his reflexes. When his thighs fall back open, they bracket Karkat’s hips perfectly, knees up against his keratin ridges. Putting pressure on them through the thin cotton of his long-sleeve shirt makes him fucking _trill_ , and Dave has to wrench his eyes shut and _concentrate_ if he doesn’t want to drop a fat load of uterus frosting in his frilly pretty panties.

Speaking of those panties, Karkat wants them off and he wants them off yesterday, so impatient that when he tugs at them with a claw elastic and cotton shred in one go and Dave’s left with some ruined secrets from Victoria. “Those cost twelve dollars,” Dave complains.

“I’ll buy you twenty of them,” Karkat threatens-promises before he outright bites Dave’s lower lip, blood seeping into his mouth. Yeah. Definitely okay with it. Possibly even turned on by it.

Maybe they can talk about things after all.

Talking later. Fucking first. Because that’s where this is going, and Dave grips Karkat’s arms so hard he’s going to have black rings around his biceps for days while the marks fade. He wishes he could leave a mark more permanent—burning, cutting, tattooing, piercing—later, later, what’s important is that his crotch monster fucking _aches_ and Karkat isn’t helping. His hand moves down Dave’s chest to pin it against his stomach, and Dave fucks against his palm with absolutely no propriety. He hasn’t been laid in, like, a week. It’s a wonder he hadn’t exploded yet.

Karkat’s bulge slithers up further between Dave’s legs and he freezes. “That’s my balls,” Dave says stupidly.

“And your waste chute.” Dave can _hear_ the fangs in Vantas’s smile. Then his bulge, for lack of a better word, _slurps_ against his chocolate starfish.

Dave’s brain promptly shatters into a thousand pieces.

He sucks in a breath, holds it in with trembling ribs when it happens again. Because that’s—that’s his butt. His mint-condition buttclam is doing something like a quiver and it feels _weird_ , wet and hot and slow and eager and Dave’s not entirely sure what’s happening and he feels more than a little dizzy. “Breathe,” Jade tells him softly from halfway across the room.

Right. Exhale. Inhale, hold it again so it doesn’t immediately escape in a _hngh_ sound when Karkat’s bulge does that _thing_ again. That’s—Dave’s never—that’s an exit only, he might be gay as the chorus in _It’s Raining Men_ but nothing goes up there, not even—but it _flutters_ the more Karkat persuades it, disorienting him. Exhale, hard. Inhale, hold.

An errant thought flits across Dave’s brain, almost too soon to catch it, that catching his breath would be easier if John were here.

And then the tapered tip of Karkat’s bulge starts a purposeful teasing spiral and Dave loses his goddamn mind.

Not his shit. That would be horrible, losing his shit in a moment like this. Of all the times for bowel incontinence, this is not the one he would choose. Things feel—on the outside it’s just sensitive in a way he didn’t expect. Jesus, is this how it feels for Karkat every time he starts in on testing him with his fingers? And someplace in him is winding tighter, a coil of _yes_ disorienting him. Exhale, hard. Inhale, hold.

It’s terrifying. And humiliating. And yet of all the people in this world, it’s only Karkat Dave will allow to bring him this low. Because only Karkat knows how to put him back together in a way that makes sense. Because Karkat makes the horrific, inevitable ticking inside his head go away. Because he might actually be in love with this asshole, in his own warped little way. “Let me,” Karkat says, quiet and raw.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Dave attempts to say, except it just turns into a reedy exhale when Karkat’s crotch tongue starts thoroughly tossing his salad again. Once he can get his voice back under control, he continues, “Not even gonna buy me dinner first? Not saying I’m asking for a candlelight hate dates or anything, at this point I’ll settle for a 20-pack of Chicken McNuggets. Or at least finger me up the frog pond first in the back seat of your parents’ Mercedes after the prom, you impatient cockwaffle.”

“I can’t,” Karkat points out—literally, points of his claws digging into Dave’s elbows as he holds on for dear life. He even sounds like he’s apologetic about it, like he wants to take his time but his body’s rioting out of his control.

Dave can sympathize. He has no idea what it is about this donglord that makes him lose all sense of propriety, but something in him resonated with something in Karkat and created this noise that’s out of control, so strong both their skeletons are thrumming with it. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to,” and Karkat shakes when Dave digs his nails into his keratin ridges like he’s trying to pry apart the cage of his pump biscuit and climb in there to cuddle with his atmosphere aspirators, “want to—to—” oh, god, he can’t even say it, and Dave’s sure his chest isn’t supposed to feel pleasantly warm and yet too small for his body parts, “oh, _fuck you_ , you smarmy abhorrent globepimple.”

Well, that’s an answer, all right. “I,” Dave tries to say, but his tongue is too thick for his mouth right now. When Karkat pulls back to look at him, his eyes are wide, pupils huge, mouth open and wet and honest. “Haven’t,” is the only thing he can think of to put behind the vowel. His heart is beating too fast and he doesn’t want Karkat to hear how hard he’s breathing. He hasn’t. No one ever has. Hell, he didn’t even think this would feel anything but sharp and uncomfortable until the personification of an exclamation point decided he wanted to punctuate his asshole.

Karkat pushes his sex-damp hair away from his forehead. Then softly, deliberately, he repeats the same chirrs and uvular ejective affricates and twisted vowel sounds he used on Harley earlier.

Oh, christ. He’s saying please.

Dave nods.

Karkat’s bulge flexes, starts—the point worming, wriggling, until—Harley makes a noise like it’s happening to her instead of him, reaches out to thread a hand through his hair. Cool fingers against his overheated scalp. Time dilates. Slow. He dilates. Gradual. “Oh, god,” it’s weird, it’s so _weird_ , this oversensitive stretch that doesn’t quite chafe but definitely _burns_. Heat from another body seeking up into his.

“Shh,” Karkat says, just when he’s at the point of crying out from it, “shh” again, cradles the side of his face. But that’s—what he just did—that’s pale, and the brush of the pad of Karkat’s thumb over his cheekbone is a pap. Harley’s hold on him is ashen, a reassurance that she won’t let him go, won’t let him succumb. Because he feels like he’s at the event horizon, about to slip out of time and space and straight into a black hole, drowning in the pitch of it—even as his heart feels like it might burst.

Karkat’s giving up his quadrants. For him. No more drawing lines or distinctions. Just the haze between their heartbeats.

Dave reaches up for his horns, gently headbutts him, then kisses him.

Really kisses him. Smears his mouth hot and wet against his lips, traces the corner of his mouth with his tongue, nips at his teeth, tastes him long and deep and sure. Karkat sinks into it, sinks further into him, and devours the noise that grinds out of his bones. Jade kisses his temple, his cheek, the point at the inside curve of his ear.

Yeah, Dave can kinda see where Karkat gets his thing from. He knows Karkat looks good with a dick in him. And Dave, of course, looks fucking flawless at all times. They look so good together, and Harley can see it. Feel it, framing their skin with her free hand. Hear it in the schlick of Karkat’s bulge, the moans and whimpers Dave tries to swallow down, the endless soothing sounds hissed between Karkat’s teeth. Taste it in the sex-sweat she licks from their faces. Smell it, the same wild desire she’s emanating in the room.

Broad. Unyielding, demanding. Searing, slick. “How much more?” Dave grits out.

“Shoosh,” Karkat whispers, petting at his face. “Almost there, take it, takeittakeit _takeit_ —”

Hips nestled against him, even more bright points of contact. A shuddering sigh rattles through him. Jade has to remind him again to “breathe, Dave, oh, wow, this is—”

“It’s too,” Dave tries to tell them. “I can’t—Karkat, I—”

“You can,” Karkat insists, “you are, you already have,” but he keeps himself as still as he can, given that his bulge has a mind of its own. Later Dave will have to remember to rip into him mercilessly about how small it is, but he really can’t handle any more than this right now. It’s oversensitive anyway. Just like its owner.

“Dave,” Jade murmurs at him, distorted and muffled like she’s trying to speak to him underwater. “John doesn’t—oh, fuck—you can both protect him without—ah,” and it won’t come out coherent no matter how hard she tries.

Karkat tries an experimental thrash, thick and strong. It hits up against every part of Dave he can reach, and Dave shudders, hiding his face in the crook of Karkat’s shoulder. “He’s—anh—he’s with sss-So-someone else, how—?”

“Por que no las dos?” Jade says breathlessly, and her hand tightens in Dave’s hair.

Not fair. He can barely understand English right now. And now the two of them have to go around bandying foreign languages? At least this is one Dave sort of understands. Por que—why. Dos—two. No—well. Why not two. Why not both.

Why not, indeed.

Karkat chirrs into Dave’s skin and bites down to stifle the noise, blood welling in his mouth. Fucker can’t keep pain out of it even when he’s trying to be gentle. _Good._ That’s just what Dave likes. The sharp kind, not this gradual shift-simmer radiating sore not-chafe. His bulge does something like a cramp, trying to knot in on itself—

Oh holy Jehosephat, what the fuck was that.

Whatever it was that Karkat just found, hitting it felt like he just completed a circuit Dave didn’t even know was there. Neurons connect everywhere from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. Another pulse and everything washes over in white—white knuckles, white noise, white behind his eyes. So unexpected and all-consuming that it leaves him feeling nearly sick with how overwhelmed he is. “Karkat,” he bites off, “I can’t—too much, I—”

“Dave,” he answers, and collapses on his chest. “I just—sorry.”

Extraction is messy and wet and leaves him feeling open and empty and _used_ and the horrible thing is, he’s not sure he entirely dislikes that feeling. “Don’t,” Dave says, if only because he’s not sorry that’s over. It was—well. They’ll debrief later. Might need additional tests in a more controlled environment without an observer present.

In the meantime, his cock is still shining hard. “Karkat,” Jade says, and pokes him in the ribs.

He barely moves. “What.”

“Gobble my knob or I will piss on everything you love.”

Karkat rolls his eyes, pushes himself up and away in an exaggerated show of effort, and takes Dave’s dick in his throat.

Well, that’ll teach him—you get what you ask for. And Karkat’s a pro at sucking him off by now. Knows what to do with his tongue. Keeps his lips tight over his teeth. Uses even the texture of the roof of his mouth, the soft muscle of his weird troll larynx. Jade runs a hand through Karkat’s hair, thick and tousled with sex, and Karkat purrs deep in his chest. “Oh, fuck,” the vibrations are humming straight through his shaft and it’s been too long and “Karkat, I’m gonna—”

It’s not enough warning. Dave releases, short bursts, right into his mouth. “Oh, _oh_ ,” Jade breathes, and collapses on her desk chair, hair a tangled black snarl, glasses nearly fogged over, lower lip a little pink from where she’s been biting it.

Karkat pulls off, glaring at Dave from under his ridiculously delicate eyelashes. “Sorry,” Dave offers. He actually means it, too. For a lot of things. Like how much of an ass he’s been. How much of a douche he’ll most likely continue to be. What he just did. What he did on Sunday. He punctuates it by reaching out and tucking a curl—Karkat’s hair curls when it’s damp, oh, his chest shouldn’t hurt like this—behind his ear.

In response, Karkat wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Then, very carefully, so Dave can see, he swallows. Oh. That’s. Kind of. “You taste,” Karkat starts, his voice showcasing that beautiful someone-just-fucked-my-throat tinge, “fucking _incredible_.” That’s an apology accepted if Dave’s ever heard one. “Are you okay?”

It takes a second for Dave to realize Karkat’s talking to him. “What, me? Yeah, I’m.” Kind of at a loss for words, but other than that, fine. Not even sarcastic-fine, just regular everything’s-good. Which it is, now. Right? “You?”

 “Give me a second chance,” he says.

That’s not an answer. Dave frowns for a second. It doesn’t even compute. “Second chance for wh—” Oh. Yeah. That thing. Kissing John. Which he’s done, too. “If you’ll,” he offers.

“Never scare me like that again and I’ll give you all the fucking chances there ever were,” Karkat promises him.

Jade hums happily. “So glad this worked out.”

“Don’t fall asleep, you barkbeast-brained ass-sniffer,” Karkat natters.

Jade just yawns in his face. “I would, but there are people on my couch. And also ick.”

Way to make Dave feel like a creep. Just did the horizontal tango in front of one of his best friends. In her room and on her furniture, no less. Of course, having people already occupying physical space has never stopped Harley from inserting herself right in there. “Puppy pile?” he suggests.

Harley’s on that like a dog on a hydrant, smooshing herself right between the two of them.  Her hair sticks to Dave’s skin. “So how are you guys going to get John?”

Which is how he ends up naked and trapped under a small, deceptively solid, and feverish troll. With a four-foot-ten teenage mistake of a drill sergeant as a garnish, no less. This life, man. This fucking life.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELCOME BACK MY FRIENDS TO THE 'VERSE THAT NEVER ENDS
> 
> hover for translations, translation notes at the bottom, guest appearance by flipyourtext.com

Free time, for Sollux, is not meaninglessly squandered. This afternoon, he’s got his procrastination goals solidly set. Everything that needs done? It’s been done. Anything that doesn’t, well, that can wait. It’ll get done eventually. He can feel it, doom inexorably pulling him closer to the future with every passing breath. It’s inevitable. It’ll happen. It’s just hard to determine precisely when.

Sollux’s desk is perennially a mess, but a disorganized workspace means an organized mind—or at least, that’s what he tells himself. He has three different external hard drives daisy-chained to his laptop, which is chained to a desktop and a 4K monitor. There’s coffee rings on the memo pad he never uses. Too many Post-It notes to count, some of them with dicks on. Shit, that’s where his composition textbook went? It takes a full minute to clear enough space for an external keyboard and wireless mouse to complete the sweetness of the setup, and from then on, Sollux is essentially locked in.

He meant to throw this keyboard out. The keys stick, the most-loved ones having the most grime around them, and the letters peeled off one by one years ago. It’s comforting, though, the reassuring clack of progress, the tactile press-click of accomplishment. Even the language gives him a sense of peace—la2er, he calls it, an offshoot of Lisp designed to run in an Alternian runtime environment, and his syntax highlights in perfect red and blue.

And the second he hits full immersion, the doorknob to his dorm room starts shaking. Is it locked? Keys scrape—KK—and lock the door first, then twist the deadbolt the other way. Keys jingle, fall. Karkat kicks them, but Sollux doesn’t hear any angry nattering. Something’s up. Is he sick? Drunk? Too early for that, but given that DV thing, Sollux wouldn’t put it past KK to have done something that stupid. He rolls his eyes, pushes his computer chair away from his desk with his heels, and resigns himself to answering the door.

On the other side, Karkat looks… Terrible is an understatement. He’s a wreck. Pale face, shaking hands, mussed hair, bright eyes with dark circles underneath. “Fuck, KK, what the hell—”

“ƨᴉμ uᴉ ϝnb ԍw ϝԍɼ,” Karkat says in halting Alterian. His voice cracks between syllables—is he about to cry?

“Oh,” Sollux has the presence of mind to say, before Karkat pitches forward and seizes Sollux’s waist in his arms like a drowning man finding any form of flotsam to keep himself afloat.

“ƨo ƨɑʍ ᴉ,” Karkat blubbers into Sollux’s sternum. His shirt is getting wet. Hot, too, with KK’s breath, and a shiver runs up his spine. “ԍμ—ĸcɑp ԍw მuᴉϝuɑʍ ĸuᴉμϝ ϝ’uqᴉq—” completely incoherent, a shell of the smol anger Sollux knows he can be.

This is beyond _there, there_ and a cup of oozing stingerplant tea. Sollux has dealt with more than his fair share of Vantasian meltdowns, especially in the last few days. That’s what he gets for pale quadranting with this little disaster on legs. Karkat has the thinnest emotional skin of anyone Sollux has ever met, or maybe that’s just the moirail thing again, that Karkat _lets_ Sollux see him at his most vulnerable. Sollux has seen him angry. So many times. He’s seen him dissolve into grief, melt into despondency, slide into frustration, fall in and out of pitch and flush and pale and ashen.

But he’s never seen KK so perfectly, incandescently, devastatingly filled with _joy_ before.

It’s hard, with KK clinging to his shirt, for Sollux to get Karkat’s keys off the floor of the hallway and into a place where either of them will remember later. It’s even harder to get KK to loosen up for long enough to walk him inside the room properly so he can shut the door on the scene KK’s inevitably about to start. In his arms, Karkat is—the word that best describes it is _vibrating_ , shaking so hard his grubscars are making a faint whirring noise in their mutated attempt to suck down air. Like his figurative CPU is literally overheating. Sollux needs to cool him down, and fast. How—how how how—walk the two of them backwards until Sollux’s calves hit a bedframe and he wrangles the both of them onto it.

As soon as Karkat’s horizontal, his legs are the next thing to encircle Sollux. He’s a mess, hiccupping with words he can’t quite get out, shivering at the raw strength of his own feelings. That’s just like Karkat, to be so consumed by even a positive emotion that he needs handheld through it by his fucking moirail. Sollux doesn’t laugh; there’ll be time for that later. Instead, he holds Karkat as tight to his chest as he can manage, combing through the wild sticky-up bits of his hair and frantically whispering “shoosh” at the top of Karkat’s head. “Shoosh, KK, shh, it’s ok, shhhh, talk to me, what hap—”

“ԍw ϝɑ qɑw ϝou ƨ’ԍμ.” Karkat sounds like he got hit in the chest by a hammer. “ԍɩowλuɑ ϝou—ԍμƨˋ ԍqɑ℩—”

“You had sex,” Sollux realizes. Of course.

“მuᴉĸcnɻ ϝƨn℩ ϝ’uƨɑʍ ϝᴉˋ uɑbɼᴉɑb noλˋ ƨɑʍ ϝᴉ—ϝ’uɑc ᴉ—” Karkat takes the first real breath Sollux has seen out of him since he walked in, filling his lungs so deep the tines of his ribs rattle like they want to be warped mutant gills.

“Shh,” Sollux insists, and moves a hand down to the small of Karkat’s back to press it in. Solid contact, keeping Karkat grounded. He moves his hand up, and KK hiccups again. Doesn’t move it back down until Karkat sighs out that breath, slow and steady. Sollux knows the back rubs have to continue until Karkat’s breathing cadence improves, or he’ll never get himself stable at a decent rate. Fuck, if KK didn’t have a moirail he’d probably overoxygenate to death or something bugshit stupid like that. He needs Sollux. Badly. And that fact, alone, makes Sollux smile. This overeager idiot, with his feelings and his emotions. When he looks down, he sees Karkat pressing his face into his shirt, trying to muffle a smile. “Now. Words. Use them. Correctly.”

“Dave—” At least that much is in English. “I went to Jade’s,” still English, and then a lapse, “ƨʍɑɼc ƨᴉμ uo μƨᴉɼobʍɑɼc ɩԍμ μϝᴉʍ ԍɩԍμϝ wᴉμ qunoɻ Iˋ ԍɼpɑᴉϝᴉb oƨ qԍĸooɼ ԍμ quɑˋ ԍɼɑbˋ ϝᴉ ϝnopɑ qԍĸɼɑϝ uԍʌԍ ԍʍ ԍɩoɻԍp wᴉμ ɼɼᴉbƨ quɑ wᴉμ ϝԍɼλɩɩoƨ oϝ qԍϝuɑʍ ᴉ.”

“But did you talk about it,” is the question that Sollux needs answered.

Karkat nods. The sliver of smile Sollux can barely see gets a little wider. “wᴉμ ɻo ɼɑᴉɩoϝᴉɩɩԍϝ ƨ’ԍμˋ wᴉμ ƨᴉxɑ oϝ ƨϝuɑʍˋ ϝԍɩcԍƨ ɑ ϝᴉ bԍԍĸ oϝ qԍᴉɩϝ ᴉ ϝɑμϝ ԍʌᴉƨƨԍɩმმɑ ԍɩow quɑ ϝᴉ qᴉq ᴉ ϝɑμϝ ϝuԍɼoᴉʌ ƨƨԍɼ ƨɑʍ—ԍμˋ ԍʍˋ wᴉμ ԍĸᴉɼ μϝop ԍʍ—”

“We _all_ like him,” Sollux corrects Karkat, and smooths his hand down Karkat’s spine again to make sure he catches his breath in the middle of his rant.

“oϝ ϝuɑʍ ϝ’uoq ᴉ,” and the hiccup Karkat lets out this time sounds close to breaking into desolation instead of this fragmented unstable happiness. “noλ qԍϝuɑɩqɑnd ƨ’ԍμˋ ϝμმᴉɩ λuɑ ԍʌɑμ ϝ’uoq ᴉˋ wᴉμ μϝᴉʍ qԍquowɑᴉq ƨ’ԍμ quɑˋ noλ μϝᴉʍ wɑ I ԍĸᴉɼˋ ĸcɑɼp λw ƨ’ԍμ quɑˋ wooɩ ou ƨ’ԍɩԍμϝ quɑˋ ϝno ԍɩnმᴉɻ მuᴉĸcnɻ ϝ’uɑc ᴉ—”

“I don’t care,” Sollux says, just like he said to John. Karkat, miraculously, shuts up, and the silence weighs for as long as Sollux can wait it out before he has to talk again. “I don’t care. I don’t own him, KK—I can’t tell him how to feel about people, and I don’t own you, either, I just. I absolutely do not care.”

“How?” Karkat whispers in English, and turns his head up. There’s a charcoal blush lingering on his cheekbones, the circles under his eyes look so deep they might be bruised, and yup. A sheen of palest pink on his face. He was crying. He’s _still_ crying, the broken frightened confused thing, confronted with something fragile and so afraid to fuck it up that he refuses to touch it.

Sollux follows his instincts, leans down, and kisses him.

Delicate, at first. Flavor of salt-wet across his lips as he feels out the contour of Karkat’s mouth. The lingering doubt showing in the reticent posture of Karkat’s torso column, the way he’s very careful not to exhale too loudly in case the air from his nose pushes Sollux away. Then, once he’s convinced Sollux isn’t trying to kill him, he… melts. Forms his mouth to Sollux’s, simple and straightforward, a conversation. A need and an answer. Sollux draws back, gives Karkat another touch of his lips just as chaste, just as honest, and Karkat remembers how to breathe again, even though he hiccups on the inhale. By the time Sollux moves to the third kiss, Karkat’s licked along his tongue, and—fuck, the inside of his mouth is—

Rich. Earthy and complex. The more Sollux tastes of Karkat, the more Karkat’s breathing evens out. Fuck, he’s full of _everything_ , pouring more than just pale back into Sollux’s mouth—there’s pitch here, yes, but an overwhelming note of _pity_ , the flush of it bringing a flush to Sollux’s face. And something else—some _one_ else— “did you seriously—”

KK cuts off his question by whispering into his mouth. The thick keratin ridges of his grubscars chirr against the hold of Sollux’s arms, and he’s warm and purring and perfect. “μcϝɑʍ oϝ ƨϝuɑʍ ԍμˋ quowɑᴉqˋ ɻɻo ԍw ʍoμƨ oϝ ƨϝuɑʍ ԍμˋ ɼɼᴉϝƨ ԍw ƨϝuɑʍ ԍμ,” a smear of his lips against Sollux’s, “μcnw oƨ wᴉμ ĸcɑɼpμƨnɼɻԍɼɑb ᴉ quɑ ϝcԍɻɩԍb quɑ ƨnoquԍɩɩoμ ƨ’ԍμˋ მuᴉĸcnɻ w’ᴉ—” something that attempts to be a kiss but ends up with his breath shaky against the sharp of the other troll’s jawline, “qԍɩɑcƨ w’ᴉˋ ƨᴉμϝ ԍĸᴉɼ ɼԍԍɻ oϝ ϝuɑԍw ɩԍʌԍu ᴉˋ wᴉμ uᴉ ԍɼმuɑϝϝuɑɩqɑnd oϝ ϝuɑԍw ɩԍʌԍu ᴉˋ ɼnɻᴉϝnɑԍp ƨ’ԍμˋ ԍμ—ԍw ϝԍɼ ԍμˋ ᴉˋ ϝuᴉobԍɼɑb—”

Disintegrating again. Sollux can feel Karkat’s pumpbiscuit thumping erratically against his own thoracic cavity. KK’s running hot, getting feverish, nowhere near in control of what he’s throwing off. The hormones are in Sollux’s skin by now, insufflating his sniffnodes with some sort of... pale, but sticky, almost like he wants to, or needs to—

It would certainly help, wouldn’t it. Better than what Sollux is doing now, praying for Karkat to ride out his tantrum with minimal intervention. They’re already locked together in a full-body embrace, but where KK has his thighs around Sollux’s waist there’s an unmistakable heat, one Sollux’s body wants to answer. No. No smearing. Not now, KK doesn’t need that, he’s already falling apart, and Sollux makes himself a compromise, merely licks the stress-sweat from behind KK’s ear. It’s still enough to make the troll shiver even harder in his arms. “Talk to me,” he insists, but his own signaling means it comes out as a conciliatory purr.

“ԍʍ—” a heavy swallow, click in KK’s throat, before he answers Sollux’s lick with one of his own, moving up Sollux’s throat and tracing a tendon with his tongue. “ƨn qԍμcϝɑʍ ԍμƨˋ ԍʍ—ϝᴉ ԍpᴉɩcƨԍq oϝ ʍoμ ʍouĸ uԍʌԍ ϝ’uoq ᴉ—”

“Words,” Sollux insists, even as they threaten to melt out of his own ears. When he reaches up to cradle KK’s head to his chest and accidentally catches a horn in his palm, he doesn’t move his hand.

The sudden contact has Karkat seizing up, like Sollux put a spark through him instead. It stills him for a little bit—just enough, and then his story starts tripping out easier, even though KK’s still stumbling through the explanation of how he got so worked up. Sollux learned this sweeps ago: the surefire way of keeping KK from locking down mentally is physical sensation, strong enough to override the emotional upheaval threatening to take over his pan. “Don’t stop,” comes out—panted, but in English.

Progress.

“I won’t.” Heavy enough to sound like a promise, but Sollux makes it into a deal. “If you keep running your mouth.”

“ԍqɑ℩—” That trill under his tone—that’s an arousal trill. _Fuck_.  “ԍp oϝ qԍƨn ϝᴉ ԍĸᴉɼ ԍ poϝ ԍʌɑμ ϝ’uƨoԍq ϝᴉ ϝɑμϝ uɑb oɼɼԍ℩ λw μმnoɩμϝ ϝᴉ ϝoმ λɼɼɑuᴉɻ ԍμƨˋ ϝԍuɑɼbɼɼoɩϝ uo ĸcɑp.” A full sentence, if still in his first language. More progress. “ϝuɑʍ ϝ’uoq ԍʍ ɻᴉ ԍɩɑndƨɩnoɻ ԍμϝ oq oϝ ԍʌɑμ ϝ’uoq-q ԍʍ.” Minimal stutter. Sollux rewards KK with another headgear grope. “ɩԍμϝᴉԍ ϝᴉ oq oϝ ϝuɑʍ ϝ’uƨԍoq ԍμ quɑˋ ԍw μϝᴉʍ ԍp oϝ ƨϝuɑʍ ϝƨn℩ ԍμˋ qԍϝuɑʍ ɩԍʌԍ ᴉ ɼɼɑ ƨ’ϝᴉ.”

“Shh, it’s ok,” Sollux reminds him, and licks up KK’s other stunted horn.

Karkat keens. This is _technically_ still pale, if only because genitals aren’t _technically_ involved, but there is something hot and damp at the crux of Karkat’s legs that he’s pushing into Sollux’s gutcradle. Yeah, hornjobs will do that to a guy. And yet KK’s getting more coherent as time passes. It’s not as… urgent. Just an insistent flood of sensation that helps pull him back down when he tries to spike himself up.  “ԍƨɑԍɼb qᴉɑƨ ᴉ,” he admits, throatbox quavering.

A kiss to his horn this time. “Keep going,” Sollux insists.

“I said please,” he says in English, like that’s still a miracle to him. “Twice.” Sollux kisses KK’s horn again, rubs the one in his hand. A reward. Then it’s back to Alternian, a language KK still knows how to speak in his sleep, the one with overtones and subsonic frequencies that English can’t hope to imitate. “ԍƨooμc oϝ ԍʌɑμ ᴉ ԍĸᴉɼ ɼԍԍɻ oϝ ϝuɑʍ ϝ’uoq ᴉ· wԍμϝ ɻo oʍϝ ԍμϝ uԍԍʍϝԍp· noλ quɑ wԍμϝ uԍԍʍϝԍp·”

“You don’t, you fucking idiot, that’s what I’m telling you, _I don’t care._ ” This time, to drive the message home, Sollux outright slobbers on the horn in his mouth.

“ϝnp.” Yeah, that’s what Sollux was afraid of. He steps up the hornjobs; Karkat sucks in a breath, and keeps going, his sentence not as warbling as it was before. “ԍw ԍƨooμc ϝ’uqᴉq ԍμ· wᴉμ ɩo·”

The pit of Sollux’s stomach drops out.

“He chose you,” Karkat says in pristine English.

That’s why the emotional overflow. Because it’s not just happiness. “Ok, listen.” Sollux pulls back enough so he can look KK in the eye when he tells him this. “JB chose you.” There’s no other way to put it. Sollux doesn’t give a single fuck if this makes KK’s eyes water. If the little douchefuck wants to start crying again, fucking fine. Sollux has all night to shooshpap this bag of shame sticks. “He did. He chose you, _and_ he chose me, _and_ he chose DV.”

Fast blink—wetness that Sollux wipes away with his fingertips, flail from what Karkat has trapped in his pants. Of course his romantic roommate gets turned on by shooshpapping. Of fucking course. Because Sollux can’t have normal quadrants with normal people, no, he’s stuck with assholes. And nobody gets it, nobody but him can see the endgame, and it’s so frustrating, sometimes, to have to hand-hold everybody through the mental gymnastics it’s going to take to get there. Sollux chalks that up to a doom sense—knowing the result, but not quite how to make it happen. Now that he mulls that over, it’s probably why he has so much patience when stuff like _this_ happens.

Back to what’s important, though, and what’s important right now is that Sollux shooshes and paps Karkat into a mushball of soothed feefees instead of having his jimmies so thoroughly rustled. “I mean it, asshole, _listen to me_.”

When Karkat looks up at him the troll’s eyes are wide, wet, red iris on red-shot sclera, twitching all over Sollux’s face like he’s not quite sure what he’s saying. “ϝnp—”

Sollux lays a long, thin finger over his lips. KK kisses his knuckle in response. “JB. John made his choice. And he chose all of us. Don’t you get it—he chose you, KK. He knew he was taking a huge risk when he kissed you, knew he might have fucked things up between me and him, let alone the kismessitude he still doesn’t know about because he’s a dumbfuck, and he _did it anyway_. You have to understand—that’s how much you mean to him, that he’s willing to ruin everything to make you happy just for five seconds straight.”

“ϝou w’ᴉ—” Karkat tries to say around Sollux’s hand.

Sollux is having none of it. He’s got a mouthful of horn, a palmful of mouth, and a chest full of feels, so Karkat needs to get his self-doubt the fuck out of the way. “Worth it?” he finishes KK’s sentence. “Don’t feed me that horseshit and expect me to swallow it. You trust JB, right?”

“ᴉ—”

Vacuum of his mouth around KK’s horn and the vowel trips off into something significantly more pornographic. “Yes or no,” Sollux follows up with, before he licks off his spit to leave KK’s horn shining.

“ƨʍɑɼc ƨᴉμ ɩԍqun qooɼp λw μϝᴉʍ,” KK admits.

Why is everything with him always like pulling teeth. First he won’t answer the question, then he goes overboard. Sollux has only heard that euphemism a few times, and only in the context of KK’s shitty historical military romances. At first, Sollux wants to dismiss that as histrionic, but then he realizes—it’s literal. For himself, too. It’s not just that he _would_ follow John to the ends of the earth and beyond, it’s that he already _has_. And somehow John pulled them all through and into this magnificent perfect fucked-up new universe.

Conversation. KK’s getting himself worked up again. Or maybe just physically—there’s actual wet seeping through his jeans and soaking Sollux’s own denim. “KK, if you trust him that much, then you need to trust his judgment when it comes to things like, I don’t know, _you_? He thinks you’re worth it. Isn’t that fucking enough, you complete backhatch?”

At first, Karkat’s only responses are some very wet hitches of breath. Attempts at hiccups, but not that worked up. Then it’s a thrum as he pushes his hips closer to Sollux’s, like he could phase through his moirail’s body if only he tried hard enough. “Shut up, bumblefuck,” he gets out eventually, and tugs Sollux’s mouth away from his horns.

It’s only so KK can kiss him again, this time with every hormone profile under the sun pouring into Sollux’s mouth. Fuck, he tastes amazing like this. Is it resonance from KK’s godtier powers that’s making his pulse rise? “DV,” he sneaks in once Karkat pulls away.

“What about him?” Slurred, accented—but English.

Almost through the tantrum. Maybe. Still holding a lot of tension in his bones, but Sollux can probably work that out. There’s a surefire way, physically, to get this to stop, but Sollux needs to make sure it won’t unduly fuck with KK’s pan. “You said  ԍƨɑԍɼb,” Sollux points out, and he doesn’t like the way his voice goes reedy there at the end, like his throat’s closing down and trying to make him chirr. KK’s a chemical weapon right now, his pheromone signaling utterly out of control, and damn it if Sollux doesn’t like him like that, perfectly worked up and in dire need of a cuddle-that-ends-in-a-puddle. “To your ƨᴉƨԍwƨᴉĸ. Why the fuck would you say that?”

That last bit of tension makes KK’s skin tighten over his frame. Sometimes, Sollux wishes that getting Karkat to actually talk about his feelings and tell him the truth was less complicated than dental surgery. “wᴉμ oϝ ϝ’uƨɑʍ ԍwᴉϝ ϝƨɩᴉɻ ԍμϝ,” and there’s a buzzing bristle in the undertone, “ɩԍμ oϝ ƨɑʍ ϝᴉˋ λɑϝƨ ɩԍμ ԍĸɑw oϝˋ ɼᴉɑb oϝ ϝnopɑ ԍɩԍʍ ԍʍ μმnoμϝ uԍʌԍˋ ԍw ɼɼᴉĸ ɼɼᴉϝƨ ϝμმᴉw ԍμ ϝμმnoμϝ ᴉ ԍƨnɑcԍp—”

Sollux’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “And she believed you?” Karkat nods. At least he has the decency to blush, little pinpoint freckles of blasphemous red dotting his cheekbones and crossing over the bridge of his nose. Sollux leans in, traces constellations between them with a gentle slide of his lips over his moirail’s face. “You cheeky fuck, I can’t believe you had an actual ashen threesome.”

“You ԍĸᴉɼ qunoƨ him,” Karkat says, mixing his languages and licking the sounds into the column of Sollux’s throat.

“The second time,” Sollux insists. He needs to know this. Not just because he’s a nosy fuck, but because he needs to give KK proper emotional aftercare for whatever happened that punched his moirail in the feelings. “Why did you say that to him?”

“Because he—” Halting. “ɩԍʌԍu q’ԍμ—” Alternian isn’t satisfying him either. Fuck. It’s a sex thing. Of course. The one thing Karkat can’t talk about without getting apoplectic and pushing Sollux away. That he’s making an effort is touching Sollux in all his soft pale places, and even the not-so-pale ones that throb with every errant waft of Karkat’s indiscriminate concupiscent signaling. “ԍw ʍoɼԍp ƨɑʍ ԍμˋ ԍɩɑp quɑˋ ԍɼɑb oƨ quɑˋ ԍw qunoɩɑ ƨმԍɼ ƨᴉμ μϝᴉʍˋ μcuᴉb ƨᴉμ ϝɑ ƨɑʍ bᴉμʍ λw quɑˋ ɩԍʌԍu q’ԍμ quɑ—ɩԍʌԍˋ ԍɩoɻԍpˋ uԍʌԍ ϝou—oϝ qԍϝuɑʍ I quɑˋ ԍμ quɑ—ԍƨɑԍɼb qᴉɑƨ ᴉˋ ԍμ quɑ—ԍw ϝԍɼ ԍμˋ ɩᴉowˋ ԍqᴉƨuᴉ ԍw ϝԍɼ ԍμˋ wᴉμ ĸcnɻ ԍw ϝԍɼ ԍμˋ ᴉ quɑˋ ƨɑʍ ԍμ—”

Disintegrating again. “Shh,” Sollux says, cradling KK’s head to his chest with the hand still around his horn. His other hand sneaks between their bodies to find Karkat still wriggling in his pants. “Shh, talk to me, shoosh,” and some of the sounds get swallowed by Karkat’s hair and the rest get covered up by the sound of Karkat’s zipper getting pulled down.

“ϝɼԍɻ ԍμ,” and the second Sollux bares his bulge it starts trying to strangle two of his fingers, “oƨˋ uԍʌԍ ϝ’uoq ᴉˋ noλ ԍĸᴉɼ ϝouˋ qɑμ ԍʌ’ᴉ ϝɑμʍ ԍĸᴉɼ ϝouˋ ԍqɑw ԍμ ƨԍƨᴉou ԍμϝ quɑ ϝoμ quɑ ϝμმᴉϝˋ ԍw ϝԍɼ ԍμˋ ԍw qԍϝƨnɩϝ ԍμˋ ᴉ quɑ—oϝ ϝuɑʍ ϝ’uqᴉq ᴉˋ ᴉ ԍɩoɻԍp qԍɼɼᴉbƨ ᴉ—”

There. There it is. Sollux shoves his hand further down, grips around the base of Karkat’s bulge; the tip spools around the back of his hand, slicking against the knobs of his knuckles. “Do you need to?”

“ƨԍλ,” with a subsonic shame rumble and a full-body flush that Sollux can feel at every point where their bodies touch, even through their clothes.

“Shh,” Sollux soothes him immediately, and Karkat just goes subvocal at that, chirruping and warbling as his moirail coaxes him higher, ever higher. “I’ll get you there, shh, trust me.” And his inspired sick little quadrant-mangled free-association brain throws this one out there, too: “Trust me like you trust them.”

The sound Karkat makes at that little sentence resonates in every register Sollux can hear, and even in some that he can’t, shaking his skeleton with how loud and urgent it is. Fuck, everyone in the entire stem is going to hear that, and it’s either Sollux puts his hand over KK’s lips or silences him in some other way. The way with his tongue in his moirail’s mouth seems like the way to go. Karkat answers him eagerly, claws raking along his shirt as he scrabbles up to hold Sollux’s face right where it is. It leaves KK’s horn bereft, until Sollux brings his other hand up to resume the hornjob; the drool he left slicks the movements of his hand as he thumbs sensation raw all along the nub, claw deliberately catching in each ridge he finds.

This was just supposed to be for KK. This was supposed to make him calm down, get him to use his words like a molted adult, force him to fight through his own feelings. But KK is so fucking _responsive_ to everything Sollux does to him now. A quick, aimless spark to KK’s ignored horn has Karkat sucking on his tongue, teeth scraping against his lips. A shower of psi down KK’s torso column, down and up and down again, is all the more he can concentrate on soothing Karkat through this. Sollux is afraid to try anything more than that—the shameless hormonal display is making him lose his cool, and he knows he won’t be able to bear the guilt if he accidentally hurts the one person he’s supposed to protect.

Karkat fucks his hips against Sollux’s fist, shameless and greedy enough to piston instead of being satisfied with his writhing instinct. “qԍԍu ᴉ,” and it’s not just his hormone profile this time, it’s his aspect reaching out to push Sollux’s pusher harder, make his blood sing in his vessels, resonating with the doom he holds in his bones. He really shouldn’t be so slick over this, his wriggly shouldn’t be chafing the fly of his jeans trying to get enough friction to spill, but that’s a moral dilemma for another time, not for right now when KK needs him more than ever. “ԍƨoɼc oƨˋ qԍԍu ᴉˋ xnɼɼoƨˋ ĸcnɻ—”

“Shh,” the pale sound whispered right into Karkat’s mouth, “shoosh, let me help you, you disaster on legs, let it come, it’s ok.”

A warning ululation starts from somewhere underneath KK’s grubscars. “ԍƨoɼc ԍƨoɼc ĸcnɻ noλ ԍʌoɼ ᴉ ϝuᴉobԍɼɑb ϝᴉμƨ ϝԍĸcnp ϝԍĸcnp ϝԍĸcnp ƨᴉμϝ ԍĸᴉɼ ϝou μcuԍɩq oϝ ϝnopɑ,” comes out in a garbled mash as his bulge pulses around Sollux’s fingers.

Yes, but that requires untangling, and KK’s not about to let go. When Sollux rears back to search for a handle, KK’s body follows him, still searching for an anchor. Psipoints scatter aimlessly on his snuggleplanes, under his sleepslat, until—getting it up here doesn’t have to look pretty, just do its job. Sollux wrangles his moirail until they’re both on their knees, trying to nudge the pail between his legs and pull his pants down and still keep getting him off all at the same time. It’s nearly overloading him, too, with the energy he has to put out to make all of this happen at once, but he can do it, he _has to_ do it, KK is counting on him, just a little while longer.

Hand more demanding around KK’s bulge, sparks all along the crown of his skull to dig into his hornbeds, so close, cramping in his grip, but it isn’t until he sucks a horn into his mouth again that Karkat finally breaks, breathing hard and wet as his material splashes against the bottom of the pail, clinging to Sollux so hard he swears he’ll have claw marks on him for days. It’s not much, but he needed to express again, and the shuddering aftershocks wracking him are proof that he turned himself inside-out at his moirail’s insistence.

How did that take so fucking long.

The hand already coated with a sheen of candy red gets the handle of the pail and sets the kit and caboodle down on the floor before he lays KK back down. From here it’s nothing but smeared, sticky kisses and a frantic de-escalation to keep his bulge from getting inspiration from Karkat’s display. Even though he’s completely blitzed, KK still has the presence of mind to get a hand at Sollux’s crotch and press, but he backs off as soon as Sollux murmurs “no, no, that was you, that was for you, shoosh” into his sex-messed hair. If he’s still got swollen globes later, it’s not like he doesn’t have hands of his own.

“I’m a mess,” Karkat says, snot-thick and throaty. “Look at me, Captor, ƨƨԍw მuᴉĸcnɻ ɑ w’ᴉ.” Smile wide enough to split his face into a rictus grin, crotch sticky but bulge finally retreating, tears still sliding fat and wet out of his blinking eyes.

“My fucking mess,” Sollux reminds him. KK lets out a little snort that’s probably a laugh. “Shit. DV really fucked you up, huh.”

“I don’t know what to do.” A loud, long sniffle. Sollux offers his sleeve; KK blows his sniffnode gunk straight into it. No more gross than any of the other body fluids soaking through his clothes by now. “He’s—I am so fucking smeared for him, just kill me already.”

“I thought you were smeared for JB.”

“Yes!” Pause. “No,” muffled into Sollux’s shirt. “Maybe? I don’t want to be. I am so fucking sorry, this is fucked up enough without me trying to play quadrant incest with you.”

“I already told you, KK. I don’t give a fuck.” Sollux smooths through his hair, holds him close even with his body still sex-steaming hot. “Wanna know a secret?”

“What,” KK glubs out, snot-bubble and all.

Sollux stretches over so he can get his lips as seductively close to KK’s ear as possible. “Moirails don’t normally give each other handjobs in the middle of the afternoon.”

“And trefoils normally don’t stay for a caliginous threesome, I get it, this is fucked. _Humans!_ ” He spits it out like a pejorative. “They just don’t give a shit, they just—with their dumb smiles and their stupid hair and their idiot glasses and rrgh!”

“It’s gonna be ok, KK,” Sollux promises him.

“Kay kay kay kay kay kay kay,” Karkat mutters back darkly. “The fuck do you know about it? I finally—and when he—Dave is _everything_ , I can’t even go _five nights_ without him and keep functioning. Which is _pathetic_ —don’t get any ideas, freak, because it should be my _moirail_  that’s helping me keep my shit together, not my matesprit—but the idea of having to just let go of John makes my entire pushercage hurt, like my atmosphere aspirators won’t open, especially since he and Dave are like a package deal, like some butthole-licking ouroboros—and I can’t even _deal with all that shit_ without you here to walk me through it because I’m such a pissgrub that I can’t have emotions without screaming and crying about it, and I can’t calm the fuck down unless you physically make me—”

“Don’t make me do that again,” Sollux teases, and blows a fat raspberry against KK’s horn. Karkat is still so oversensitive that a shiver runs through him scalp to soles. “I will turn this entire pity party around, so help me.”

“Everything is ruined forever,” and if Sollux wasn’t actually, literally holding him down, he knows Karkat would be clawing at his own face.

“Shut up, you melodramatic fuck.” A little shifting so he can look his moirail in the eye when he says this. “I swear to you, everything is going to work out. I promise.”

“You _promithhhhh?_ ” Karkat mocks, flecks of spit landing on Sollux’s face. “You can’t make any guarantees. You don’t even remember to _eat_ when I’m not making you food.”

“Call it a doom thing, then.” Because it’s true. Bone-deep knowledge, something he can’t quite explain—but he remembers this, the certainty of it, the finality, the outcome, even if it seemed totally bizarre at the time and even though he could never see the alternatives.

He feels it, beyond words or explanations—they’re going to make it. All four of them, somehow, together. He might not know when—that’s all Dave—and he might not know how, but it’s going to happen. And in the meantime, his moirail needs to stop freaking out about being happy, for once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [about the author](http://2x2verse.tumblr.com/abouttheauthor)
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> TRANSLATION NOTES:
> 
> [1] lit. "pailpan;" fig. "can't keep your mind out of the gutter"  
> [2] lit. "pale;" affectionate pet name for a moirail  
> [3] lit. "sorrylet;" a more exacting, retributive act than the passive positivity of forgiving but with the same place in the language  
> [4] lit. "spill;" fig. "give [subject] an orgasm"  
> [5] lit. "territorial"  
> [6] lit. "to axis him;" with the moral judgment of defining the proper terms of one's romantic and sexual encounters  
> [7] lit. "violent;" an example of Alternian being more physically oriented and less emotionally literate than English  
> [8] lit. "aggressive;" another example of Alternian being more physically oriented and less emotionally literate than English  
> [9] lit. "he's quadranted you;" less of a possessive meaning and more of a meaning of finality and fate and destiny  
> [10] lit. "diamonded;" more romantic term than "allieged" for moirallegiance  
> [11] lit. "spade;" kismesis with the additional meaning of "this person has become the definition of the word to me"  
> [12] lit. "paleflushblack;" a heretical concept and an unspeakable word but showing that Alternia once had a concept for a monoquadrant romantic-sexual social system  
> [13] lit. "quadranttangle in;" another heretical concept and unspeakable word with the added implication that the quadrant system may not have been an organic invention but may have been imposed by force  
> [14] lit. "palepoint;" a moirail term of endearment, implying that the object of affection is the perfect opposite of the speaker in this respect  
> [15] lit. "Jello pan;" the English idiom is used in translation instead  
> [16] lit. "play foursquare;" a term connoting immaturity with the romantic-sexual aspects of Alternian culture and usually associated with teenagers  
> [17] lit. "with my blood under his claws;" less figurative than the English idiom "to take a bullet for," this phrase indicates that the object of affection has already hurt the speaker but that the speaker still trusts the object of affection, whether rational or not, not to cull the speaker through such pain; see also fig. "mercy"  
> [18] colloq. "whip"  
> [19] colloq. "pinch"  
> [20] lit. "moir;" affectionate pet name for a moirail  
> [21] colloq. "drench"  
> [22] lit. "palepoint;" see [14]


	24. Chapter 24

When Dave gets back to the room, it shouldn’t surprise him that Egbert’s there too, lounging on his bed at his laptop pecking away instead of using his pre-furnished desk like any self-respecting college freshman. He fucking lives there. Dave chose him as a roommate. And yet his _presence_ isn’t something Dave routinely notices. He takes it for granted, most of the time, but John—oblivious, stupid fuckwit—also seems to have this nasty habit of accidentally tripping over ~~sexual~~ ~~romantic~~ boyfriend entanglements he doesn’t even know are there. What with the crescendo of these past few days, this afternoon’s resolution, Dave doesn’t know how to approach his roommate anymore, unwilling to even think the word ‘friend’ if it’ll disturb this fragile equilibrium and hesitant harmony.

It also shouldn’t surprise him that John is shirtless, flannel pants slung so casually around his hips as he rolls back and forth, between on his stomach with two hands plucking at his computer keyboard and on his side with a few fingers of one hand poking at random keys to see if this or that arrangement of letters will work. “Oh, hey,” John says when Dave shuts the door behind him, offering a wave now that he’s on his side. John’s Adonis line is showing. Dave hates himself for noticing.

Once he clicks the deadbolt shut, Dave offers him an up-nod and a raised hand. Two gestures of greeting. That’s two more than he usually gives out, but hey, he’s in an actually all right kind of mood. The least he can do is share it with Egbert, who’s been needling him to just come back to the room already and stop spending so much time in Strider Hall.

Maybe it’s because of moments like this, when Dave is audibly aware of John’s wriggling due to the wisp of his blanket against his skin as he tosses and turns. He’d like to be in bed right now himself—it is kinda late, according to a normie’s internal timetable—but if he lets himself lounge with his warm laptop on his belly, he’s going to nod off. It’s absolutely not that he’s exhausted from emoting so much. No, it’s just easier to work, is all—and easiest to work with music, a language he understands even when his words won’t come out quite right.

So he drops his absolutely-ironic can-you-believe-Dave-Strider-actually-ran-track-in-high-school varsity letter jacket with his messenger bag before he pulls out his desk chair, just so he can whirl it around and straddle the back of it while he boots his laptop. “You’re so weird,” John says, smile curling around his tone. Dave huffs out an acknowledgement, amusement, and turns his head just enough so his roommate can catch the up-quirk of the corner of his mouth. John has _no idea_ what happened earlier, _zero clue_ why this might even potentially be more comfortable for Dave right now, and he can feel heat climbing into his face. While he boots the program he needs for his transcription homework, he turns away from John, leans down, and fishes around in his man-purse—that binder, the one full of staff paper, then a pencil, a huge fuck-off eraser, and a horrifically tangled pair of earbuds.

Yeah, he’s feeling social. If it was just normal work, he’d have on-ear headphones, some cheap off-brand pieces of shit from the remains of what was once RadioShack. If it was distract-me-and-die, he’d have on his over-ear studio-quality monstrosities, maybe one to which Karkat hadn’t frayed the cord against his wrists, the overeager sonofabitch. But tonight—tonight he’s feeling amiable enough. So, earbuds—threaded behind his ears, cords tucked under the legs of his shades, dangling at his aural openings. Just enough to hear his homework, and leaving conversation open for Egbert in case he feels like talking. Dave doesn’t, much, but sometimes it’s worth it just to let John run his mouth so he can really pay attention and listen.

This audio file he has to boot is already fucking annoying. It’s classical, because Professor Colson hates his students in general and hates Dave in particular. It’s also some dreadful Slavic piece of shit, complete with piano accompaniment and the scratchiest violin modern physics allows. His assignment is to transcribe the string solo. This is going to kill him. He hadn’t been paying enough attention during the lecture on orchestral notation, probably missed how to indicate glissandos and the particular rasp of horsehair on catgut. And it doesn’t even start with the violin, just with rolls of chords from the piano.

Immediately Dave is distracted. Not just that his attention span is roughly as long as _hey remember you wanted an energy drink how many artificial chemicals are in that anyway you can probably get away with a quick Google_ and four minutes later he’s dick deep in search results for bull shark testosterone. But it’s… it’s piano. Damn it. And John—he would have preferred it if his little white noise of scritchascritch tapatap was still in the background, because the sudden absence feels like judgment. Piano _and_ John _and_ thoughts about his hands _and_ the way he demolishes the 88 little hammers _and_ the memory of John’s hands anywhere they’ve been on him _and_ the hope that someday John will either make some music with him or just smash him in with a hammer already—

Thank Christ the scratch of the violin scratches Dave out of that train of thought. It gets one-a’two-three-four notes in, one-two-three-and’a’four-five-six, and even as he’s stomping on his footpedal to pause the music, the structure is already right there for him to grasp, almost like he can see it in the air. With a fluid motion Dave draws a clef on his staff paper, has an internal debate over 2/4 versus 4/4 and chooses the more traditional time signature, thinks about the sweeping arpeggios in the accompaniment before doodling in the accidentals. The one gift he have is being pitch-perfect. At music, at least. People, not so much. _Trolls_ , even less. But this is his domain, and he will not let it defeat him.

Preliminaries aside, he holds the two phrases, ten-or-so notes in his head, and starts scratching out notes without regard for length. Dave’s handwritten sheet music never looks pretty. It doesn’t have to—it’s just for him. Besides, that’s what the eraser is for. Especially with the number of notes held for precariously too long, aren’t bows too _short_ to sustain that? Whatever, he’ll write in the dynamics later, what’s important is getting down the thread that holds this piece together.

“Wait,” John says, and Dave pauses from his frantic scribbling. “I think I might actually know this one.” He tilts his head towards John, lets his earbud drop— _keep talking at me_. “Can you, uh. I mean, the beginning, it seems like I _should_ know this even if I don’t.”

Dave turns to him, taking his shades off. “Huh?” First of all, he could hear? Second of all, _what?_ It’s piano, yeah, but why would he know this particular piece?

“It’s like it’s on the tip of my tongue,” John tries to explain, “and it’s going to itch on my hands until I can figure it out. Play it again? Just thirty seconds—then you can, y’know. Sorry.”

Dave shrugs at him, nudges his foot to the left on his footpedal to rewind to the beginning, and unplugs his earbuds. Might as well, it’ll take him forever to transcribe it if he can’t place the notes he just heard in some sort of context. Dave lets up on the brake and immediately his speakers try to blast him backwards onto his ass with the vehemence of the piano chords running through them. That much is generic, but then the violin starts crying and Dave watches John’s eyes as they go from immersed to spark as the first full sentence of the music ends, then starts to repeat itself. “Oh, oh, crap,” Dave brakes the music again so John can babble, “what is this, _I know this_ , I helped Rose with this in junior year, this was her solo at states—don’t look at me like that, Dave, her rendition was amazing even if she didn’t medal. She’s gonna love this, let me message her.”

Dave rolls his eyes at his roommate as John frantically types at his chat window, but something about the roll of the bow across the strings of the violin pushes at Dave’s gray matter, seeping into the cracks, until it slips in, snatches a half-remembered song. The key is different, and so is the context, which is why it was so hard for him to translate—but then it’s like he can hear the beat in his ears, feel it ticking alongside his pulse.

John looks up from his computer and says “[Csardas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yxfXPhhxuzg)” at the same time as Dave says “[Alejandro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNqIUb2RdGQ).” “What?” John asks him. “Who’s that? I don’t think that’s the composer, his name started with a V—something, something, Monti? Rose says she can probably dig up the sheet music so you can take a look, but it might take her a couple of days, and my part wouldn’t help you at _all_ —”

“Not allowed,” Dave clips off in response. Prof already wants him out of the music program for spinning his chiptune rap vinylphile garbage and gets on his ass for not being classically literate. The last thing Dave wants to give him is an excuse to be nasty to someone who’s a fucking protégé in the medium. “Thanks, though.” And, mindful of the volume this time, he lets up on the footpedal and just lets the music play.

John’s enraptured—Dave can tell as much just by the starry, faraway look in his eyes. Whatever he was pecking away at is long since forgotten, his hands twitching with body memories as the song rolls along. Dave envies him a little for that—that he can just sink into the music and wear it under his skin, instead of focusing on the tiny technicalities that have to be _just so_ for the experience to coalesce into a harmonious whole that tells a story from beginning to end.

And this song does that, too. He probably shouldn’t have made fun of the violin’s weepy tone at the beginning, because soon enough it’s spritely, bow skipping back and forth over strings as if to tease at how technically proficient the soloist is even as the melody stays in a morose key. A brighter key with a bombastic announcement in the middle fades to a pale, innocent memory promising better things, before back to a short reprise of the feisty bit. And then the shortest segue to a major key possible, so quick it almost hurts Dave’s teeth to listen to it, and the song rushes towards the end.

He’s left a little bewildered by the experience. Thinking about Lalonde right now is a no-go but feels inevitable. Meanwhile, John’s looking at him like he just gave him a gift of some sort. “Man, it’s been a while,” John says, then cracks his knuckles. “But I feel like I remember the whole thing. That was _awesome_. You know what’s even better?”

And then John’s shitty laptop speakers are doing the same fucking thing Dave’s superior sound system was doing just moments before, only it’s [_fully orchestrated_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-mKgj7SW4E). One hundred and ten people and their very expensive specialized music toys coming in all at once and blessed be, Dave can’t keep track of every single one of them. Did John know? What matters is that he’s getting hit in the chest with the score of it. It sweeps him away, makes him unable to determine exactly who’s doing what, and it’s so much easier to just let it seep into his pores like this, when he doesn’t have to worry about micromanaging the sound. “It was originally written for violin and, I think piano or guitar?” John tries to explain. “Something like that, but obviously people get carried away sometimes and orchestrate it.”

“It’s…” Just as much of a shitty violin solo, but it’s a little softer behind, with the harp and then the strings and then the woodwinds and fuck, that bombast with the brass, _fuck off_ , and the end. The end is so _satisfying_ this way, every single one of those instruments chiming in with unabashed joy to put a real fortissimo on the conclusion. The orchestra deserves the applause at the end, is all Dave can think. “Wow.”

“Yeah, I know, right. I think I have some sheet music around that’s a solo piano arrangement, but I picked it up right after Rose was done with states and I was _just a little burned out_ on Csardas by then.”

No kidding. Especially with how piercing that violin can get when it goes two octaves up for no good reason. Dave’s amazed John didn’t get some kind of hearing loss in his higher registers with that kind of squeaking from Lalonde right up in his ears while they practiced. “Okay, but.” Dave has a point to prove now. If Egbert can pull his little stunt and show how the sound can change in a different context, so can he. “Listen.”

It’s just the violin solo for a second, no accompaniment. A few seconds. Then a woman’s voice, speaking in some sort of horrific accent: _I know that we are young, and I know that you may love me, but I just can’t be with you like this anymore—[Alejandro](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vNqIUb2RdGQ)._

Egbert’s head slams into the bottom half of his laptop. “Oh my _god_ ,” and he lets out a muffled sound into his blanket—but then he’s snapping his laptop shut to avoid further damage and rolling onto his back, because he’s. He’s laughing. Literally rolling around on his mattress from the mirth of it, clutching his stomach and eyes going a little wet as his glasses go crooked. Dave’s small grinchy heart grows three sizes at once knowing that _he made John laugh_ , and he takes off his poker-faced mask to show John just how thrilled he is about it. “Okay, that’s it, tonight’s—” Egbert wheezes— “tonight is officially cancelled. I can’t work like this. This is a _hostile work environment_ , Dave! And this isn’t going to get out of my head for _days_ and I think I hate you now.”

Which is too bad, because Dave doesn’t even hate this song. Not a favorite, and Lady Gaga’s a little too trite and a lottle bit outdated by now—Christ, this EP was released in 2009—but it’s still got a bassline, and a beat, and killer synth, and it’s the exact kind of trashy pop Dave loves to gorge on when he has a deadline to beat. Of course, with music like this, Dave tends to get a little antsypants and do a shimmy in his seat. Which, he supposes, from his roommate’s point of view, probably looks like he’s either twerking or humping the back of his chair where his knees straddle it. “Jesus, Dave, _stop it_ ,” he says, choking down air between little hiccups of his hilarity.

Hm, stop it, he says. Dave can stop, but that doesn’t mean John’s gonna like it. Instead of doing the booty jiggle, he puts his hand on the back of his chair, plants his feet, and _rolls_ himself to standing with a smooth piston of his hips. The noise John makes isn’t quite a hiccup, more like a stutter in remembering how to breathe; Dave appreciates the irony and resolves to do The Thing even harder to get that kind of reaction again. To do that, though, he has to put his desk chair right back where it came from so he can get some more floor space.

By the time he’s facing his roommate again, Egbert’s got this softly-astonished look on his face, too honest by half, and it’s all in the set of his mouth: lips slightly parted, just enough to show the vestige of what orthodontia could never fix. Having John’s eyes on him makes Dave feel like he’s going supernova. Stefani Germanotta is quietly pleading with her lovers over that same haunting violin melody, and Dave is dragging his hands up his body from hips to shoulders, not caring how rumpled his shirt gets on the way or how much skin he’s exposing. It’s not until he runs his fingers through his own hair and tugs on the way out that John’s breath goes backwards, a gasp instead of a heavy exhale.

Well, he should probably be changing for bed anyway, shouldn’t he, if tonight’s been cancelled. Which means getting shirtless. And also Increasing The Thing, if it’s getting him that kind of attention. Not that Dave really knows how to Do The Thing, considering it’s a striptease and his usual experience with getting naked in a sensual way usually involves a lot more claws and shredding than this, but he can try, at least. His brilliant idea is to hook a thumb into the bottom hem of his shirt and pull it all the way up to his shoulder, revealing a nice slice of pale Houstonian softly corded with lean muscle. Dave can feel the path of John’s eyes as they devour the visual—and then the mood is abruptly lost when the two of them manage to make eye contact and Egbert snrks the beginning of another giggle fit before dissolving into hysterics again.

Ah. It was probably the eyes. Dave doesn’t have much practice with bedroom eyes. Or eyes at all, really. The shades are a thing for a reason. To get his shirt in the vague vicinity of the shitty college dorm room pop-up hamper that he shares with his roommate, he has to turn his back. His blood’s hot in his ears, but maybe he can hear the chortling start to subside as he starts to get naked. Or maybe it’s just John turning down his sheets and turning on the shitty wrap-around light on one corner of his bed. “Turn the lights off, yeah?”

Not yet. Dave has to satisfy himself that John’s not looking before he swaps out his skinny jeans for track pants, especially since it’s such a fucking production to peel those things off. If his roommate isn’t even going to pretend to appreciate his naked bod, then he can just keep his head turned. To salvage his pride after being so savagely dunked on, Dave grabs his shades and shoves them, maybe a little too roughly, back onto his face. He’s used to getting laughed at for his eyes, but… not by Egbert. So John doesn’t get to see them tonight. Even if he does wheedle Dave to let him see them, because they’re so pretty. Not even then.

Dave knocks the overhead fluorescent off and everything’s suddenly in dark mode—everything but his now-quiet laptop and the light above John’s head. It makes a halo in his dark, glossy hair, but the garish bright of the Macbook ruins the effect. When Dave closes his laptop, he’s so busy looking elsewhere that he pinches his finger. He’s about to make a move for his own blankets when John softly asks “Come here?” to the darkness.

He already has his glasses off, looking too vulnerable to reject. Damn him. Dave can at least knee his roommate in the chest while he’s getting pulled into John’s blanket hell. And also his arms. Okay. Yes. That’s a thing. Tonight is a night when John wants to cuddle. Which… probably shouldn’t be as routine as it is, but Dave’s not about to turn down a good thing, not when his roommate is warm and solid and just that little bit taller than him so the soles of Dave’s cold feet hit the tops of John’s toasty toes.

“Take your shades off?” Dave tosses his head from side to side. “Come on, I promise I won’t laugh again, you don’t have to do the come-to-bed-daddy eyes, you’re already here.”

“No.”

“Fine,” John drawls out, but he doesn’t push it. Maybe that’ll learn him some consequences about making fun of his come-hither look. Dave doesn’t hold out much hope for that, though, just like he’s not above trying that little move again if he thinks he can hold the mood a little longer next time.

For a while, things are quiet. John’s one arm is pinned to the bed and wrapped around Dave’s shoulders; his other arm is slung over Dave’s hip, cradling the small of his back. There’s a miniscule, soothing movement of John’s thumb against his deltoid, gentle sweeps back and forth like he’s trying to smooth over something—or say he’s sorry.

Close enough. Dave accepts it for whatever it is and tries to think of how to return that reassurance. Casual touch is… not a thing that comes naturally for him. Just because it feels good doesn’t mean he’s comfortable with initiating it, or giving back, or anything. It’s more trusting than anything he deserves and more tender than everything he grew up with. But John is patient—has been patient for years, really, getting him used to hugs, to huddling together in blanket forts, to teasing bops on the head or the shoulder, to fingers around his wrist or hand sneaking into his grasp so John can pull him towards something good.

Hands. Hands might work. Dave can do hands. Hands at his turntables, just like John’s are at home on his Steinway. Dave reaches between the two of them with his pinned arm—shit, space between them, not what he really meant, but John seems okay with it, doesn’t press closer or pull away—and finds John’s fingertips first, zips his fingers between John’s, and leaves their hands loosely looped together. John’s thumb just starts caressing the back of Dave’s hand instead, and the skin is thinner there, more sensitive. John’s got to be feeling every bone that sticks out, but he doesn’t say anything, no comments about his weight.

A small sigh of relief. John answers with a small, sleep-heavy yawn of his own. The warm fog of their breaths ghosts against Dave’s front. Can he—should he—John’s tattoo is _right there_ , on the cap of his shoulder, right before his hammer-welded bicep starts, and almost as soon as he’s thinking it, Dave’s hand starts moving. Gently enough that he doesn’t shrug the hand-holding off of his shoulder, but up John’s arm all the same. Where his fingers have been, John’s skin tightens. The warmth of him burns the chill off Dave’s bones.

Dave still doesn’t know exactly why Egbert got this weird-ass tattoo, and he’s mildly offended that his roommate had the audacity to get a body mod before he did, because _he’s_ supposed to be the weird one, after all. But it was a birthday thing, you surmised, when he and Jade and Jake all went together to get some work done. English got a magnificent cover-up for his delightfully ill-advised Sweet Bro scratcher, Harley has an intricate Maori design running down her bicep now, and John got… a foot. A footprint, really. A really well-designed one, with sworls in it that Dave’s eyes love to trace, but just something really simple. Egbert always says it’s to connect him with his heritage, like he’s walking in the footsteps of those who came before him or something stupid. Kinda dumb. Would probably look better as part of a sleeve, in Dave’s opinion.

It’s still something to touch and map out with his fingerprints, an excuse for Dave to let his fingers doodle all over his roommate. He traces the heel of the tattoo with his middle finger and John’s hand tightens at the small of his back, fingertips dragging over sensitive skin and fine hairs and making Dave’s stomach wind a little tighter. It would be ticklish if it wasn’t so intimate. “Hnn,” John hums idly, letting go of Dave’s hand—did he do something wrong, what did he—oh, never mind, it’s just to start rubbing his thumb over the divot right there at the base of his skull, massaging at his scalp while his hand lays heavy over the back of his neck. Dave will never turn down pettings from John; he suspects his roommate likes it so much because Dave keeps his hair so short back there, a buzzed undercut with that bird swirl still on top and in front.

Well, fine. If they’re going to be playing the hair-tousle game, Dave can totally put that sportsball in the net and run all the bases for a touchdown. John’s hair is shaggy, unruly, standing itself on end, but it’s surprisingly silky to the touch, and he pulls Dave closer when Dave starts pressing his thumbprint right against the space behind John’s ear, trying to massage out the divot left by the leg of his glasses. “You’re… kinda quiet tonight.” John’s voice is low, the heat of his breath right on Dave’s clavicle.

Dave just shrugs. With the two of them curled into each other like this, John can feel it, even if he can’t see it. It’s a weird feeling, something almost like serenity, but Dave just doesn’t feel the need to bullshit right now. That heated exchange with Karkat earlier, the scorching hot sex, all under Harley’s supervision—hell if it didn’t burn off his superficial veneer of snark. Besides, right now, with John? There’s no need to pretend. His roommate knows him. Too fucking well.

“It’s weird! That’s all,” he hastens to say, pulling away enough that, while their heads share the same pillow, he can actually look at Dave. One of John’s feet starts getting adventurous under the blanket, runs an insole up one of Dave’s calves, and from the knee down the two of them are tangled together. Dave doesn’t know the protocol for how far his hips should be away, but he’s fairly certain it’s usually more than this—and that John isn’t moving away. “Am I going to have to be the one that talks all night? Because I guess I can do that.”

Dave nods. It makes John’s fingers ruffle his hair. It’s not every day he gets a front seat to the Egbert babbling show. His roommate tends to say some monumentally moronic, if heartfelt, things if given the chance to let his mouth run.

“Okay. So.” Here it comes. John’s bicep curls under Dave’s fingers; the hand at the small of Dave’s back comes up to cup at his hip, then sweep along his flank. Long, generous swathes of contact. “I guess I just didn’t realize college was going to be so different. It’s not like we’re kids anymore and we can do whatever we want. I know I get buried with class stuff, and it’s not the same as yours.” John snorts out something sarcastically humorous. “Wish it was. I should probably change my major. I mean, we’re only one semester in, right? Still taking really basic sorts of classes. I just think I’m making a mistake with compsci. I’m not that great at it, and I’m working really hard, but Sol still has to rescue me with a lot of this stuff, and it’s not like Karkat can help, he’s up to his ears—haha, ears—with foreign languages. And it’s not like I’m making a decision right now, or anything, and I definitely don’t want you to feel like I’m intruding or something, but god. I really miss playing sometimes, y’know? I don’t have as much time for it as I want right now, and I only got a good few hours in the other day because—well, I guess you know why. I don’t think it should have to be like that, but. You’re kind of the music major in our group, and I don’t want you to think I’m trying to copy you or anything. I don’t think I could! Not like I can copy Sollux either, he’s so much better than me at everything. But it’s like—you’re more of a production guy, and I’d be more performance. I mean, if I switched.” He pauses to take a breath. “Just something I’ve been thinking about.”

The idea of John spending all his time in Strider Hall, just a floor away—if Dave could hear his piano through the floorboards, if he were that thunderously grandiose with his Rachmaninoff—commiserating about professors and swapping sheet music back and forth—bullshitting assignments for Composition together—recording Egbert’s little flights of fancy and chiptuning them and weaving the melody into one of his mixtapes—if John could take the time to teach him how to play, hands covering his, fingertips pressing his own into the keys—“Yeah,” Dave says weakly, the word coming out a little parched, _keep talking_ , and he tries to keep his hand in John’s hair from shaking.

“I was really surprised when you came back to the room tonight. I mean, I’ve asked you to! So it was nice. I just thought you would be working, y’know, by yourself again. In Strider Hall all night, where they don’t have a curfew or lights-out or anything. But I’m—I’m glad you came back here. Even if it is just to do homework and stuff. That’s why we’re rooming together, right? So we can live together and stuff? And hang out all the time?”

The words _nice_ and _glad_ hit Dave right in the chest, right before he gets whumped by the word _rooming_. Roommates, yeah. That’s the only thing Dave can take for granted right now. But Dave has to ask: “Are we… _friends?”_ Because that’s not quite what this is, is it. Dave’s been keeping so many secrets, and not all of them on purpose—it’s not his fault Egbert’s too obtuse to realize when there’s a relationship right under his nose. Hell, he was probably fifteen minutes late to his own _holy shit, we’re dating_ realization with Captor. But at the same time, John wants Dave like _this_. In his twin bed, shirts off, doing the kind of cuddling that’s almost post-coital without the fucking coitus. And they’ve been doing this since move-in day, were doing it even before then when they’d zip their sleeping bags together on the floor of the Egberts’ basement and idly play with each other’s hands while bullshitting about Spider-Man franchise reboots and the pointless warm-ups their coaches used to make them do.

But now? Now John’s backing up. Just that slightest bit. The hand on Dave’s side has stopped, somewhere around his ribcage; Egbert’s got to be able to feel how hard his heart is hammering. There’s a twist in his mouth that Dave recognizes, that inability to get past his inscrutable shades to find out what he _really_ means. “Uh… yeah?” John says, in that tone of _why wouldn’t we be_.

Dave lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Roommates _and_ friends. That wasn’t quite what he meant, though, and it’s his own fault that words aren’t coming out right. That’s what happens when he doesn’t talk for that long. “No, I mean—I mean. Are we _just_ friends.”

John’s eyebrows are doing a twist too, now, the slightest furrow showing between them. His thumb, meanwhile, stopped that gentle sweep against his scalp, and his fingers are settling just right between Dave’s ribs. Dave knows what he’s thinking—everything that’s churning in Egbert’s cranium is running through his mind, too, especially given how physically close they are to each other right now. Is this a thing that _friends_ do? Is the relationship they have _friendly_? “Not that troll thing, probably,” John says eventually. “I don’t know what that’s like. It sounds weird. I assume you’re not going to kill anybody if I don’t hug you or something.” Dave has to huff out a short laugh at that. “Moot point, I’m not about to stop hugging you just to figure out whether you’ll go murdercrazy or not. But, I mean—Dave, you’re my best friend. Karkat, too, but—you and I, we’re living together. And I think that’s so cool, and it’s been so much fun. I really like spending time with you, and I miss you when you’re not here. You’re—you—you feel like part of me, somehow, and I notice when you’re gone.”

And then John bites his lip suddenly with his rabbit-denture overbite, trying to button his mouth shut so he doesn’t say anything more. Dave slips his hand in John’s hair a little further south, so he’s just barely thumbing at the corner of his jaw, his earlobe. There’s words stuck in here—Dave knows all about that—but he’s not going to be able to breathe until John spits it out.

The first thing to come out of John’s mouth when he stops biting it is a sarcastic little _haha_. Dave’s watching his face, but it’s like Egbert can’t look him in the eye; his gaze drops to Dave’s chest. There’s scruff already on John’s face; Dave thumbs at it as gently as he can, tries to get the words out. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you all this. I mean, it doesn’t really matter. I’m dating Sollux, and I fucked up pretty bad with Karkat, but. Sol says he doesn’t care. I just hope that’s true. I just feel like I’m being pulled in three different directions and it isn’t _fair_ because god. Don’t make me choose. I don’t want to give this up,” hand clutching almost painfully at Dave’s side, “and I want Karkat to know I give a shit and I want Sollux to understand that I didn’t exactly choose to feel like this. Especially since—” his syllables are tripping over one another now, and every word’s coming out rapid fire, it’s a good thing he doesn’t need to breathe because he’s not about to stop his sentence to fill his lungs by himself—“it’s not like I ever stop caring, I just want so many people to know about it at once, and I need you, I need everyone, to just. This isn’t easy for me, I—” There’s the breath. “I love you.”

Dave blinks. He’s glad he has his shades on. And he doesn’t exactly do a full-blown time loop, just a small rewind so he can confirm he just heard the actual words that Egbert said with his literal mouth. And, of course, because it’s John, that could mean _anything_. He’s so indiscriminate with his affections that it could be that he thinks they’re the bestest of bros. “No homo?” Dave has to ask.

John’s eyes snap back up. “Oh my god, you idiot, I’ve had a crush on you since my sixteenth birthday.” At his little party for the four of them, he’d come out with that cake—literally, the goober wrote I’M NOT STRAIGHT on the white fondant in green icing—and put it on the table with shaking hands, and Jade had squealed and clapped her hands, and Lalonde had murmured her congratulations with her knowing smile, but Dave hadn’t known what to say. Or what to do. John was just standing there looking so lost, eyes wide behind his glasses, like he was just hoping the three of them wouldn’t hurt him with what he’d just told them. “You—you gave me a hug,” John tells him, “you came to me and you put your arms around me and you’d _never done that before_ , and I was just so. And you didn’t let go. Not until you made sure I was okay. And I think that’s when I knew, but I just. Never knew what to do about it. Or whether it was okay. Or how to tell you. I’m sor—”

Dave has to cut off that last part with a swift fingertip to push John’s lips closed. No apologies. Not for this. Or, well, there shouldn’t have to be, if Dave can just make sure of something first—

\-- turntechGodhead [TG] started pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] at 00:06 --  
TG: egbert is being exceedingly gay and im about to kiss him probably  
TG: permission y/n?  
CG: CONDITIONAL ON A FULL REPORT FROM BEHIND ENEMY LINES.  
TG: sir yes sir

Greenlit. Dave slides his hand up the side of John’s face, palm catching on stubble. “Remember that thing at Maryam’s party?”

“I guess—”

In the meantime, Dave’s other hand has moved from John’s tattoo to bracket the other side of his face. “If you don’t say no, it’s about to happen again.”

 _“Yes,”_ John hisses fiercely, and Dave pulls his face closer to kiss him properly.

This isn’t some drunken sorority party thing. This isn’t about grabbing attention. Dave tries to learn the soft curves of John’s mouth with his lips, mapping out his cupid’s bow, each upturned corner, the fullness of his lower lip slightly dented from biting at it earlier. John’s pulse is hammering in his throat when Dave’s hands slip down that slightest bit, hook behind his head to keep him _righttheredammit_. John leans into it, kisses _back_ , mouth sweeping across Dave’s and knitting his bones tight under his skin. Dave’s terrified of taking this too fast, has no idea what kinds of liberties he can take and what might be pushing too far. As it is, he has to push aside every shred of self-doubt reminding him that he only just made up with Vantas today, that this is the reason why the two of them spent nearly a week miserable and alone—Karkat said it was okay, Karkat said he could do this, maybe—

This—could it—what if—

John has the remarkable ability to make Dave stop thinking. This time it’s the gentle scrape of his buck teeth against Dave’s lower lip, plucking at it a little bit and making his face heat with the intimacy of it. The hand that was at his side leaves—no, that was comfort, how could he—and instead plucks his shades off his face. No defenses now. Not like he’s ever had any around John to begin with, but it’s nice to pretend, sometimes.

Without his shield, Dave presses closer, but it’s John who takes it further, flicking his tongue against the dip of his upper lip and licking his way across until Dave opens his mouth for him, and. The idea that he’s tasting John as their tongues push against each other is what makes his gut coil around a spike of arousal. Their hips should probably not be this close together. Dave can’t find it in him to give a shit, not when he can feel John’s abs tight against his belly, clenching at all the sensation Dave’s giving him in return.

John’s free hand returns, plants itself on Dave’s shoulder and nudges, and then. The mattress creaks, and gravity shifts, and John’s above him, cautiously holding himself up with his hand planted right beside Dave’s face, close enough that Dave can nuzzle the pulse point of John’s wrist with his cheek. As far apart as their chests are, their legs are still tangled, and the fabric of their pants can only be so forgiving. The heat in Dave’s face washes into his ears, because John has to be able to feel that—and John’s grinding the start of his own hard-on into Dave’s hip with these tiny, instinctive hitches of his hips, not even caring that Dave can feel how turned on he is.

Dave pushes back with his tongue, anchors John against his lips, and once he’s certain John’s not about to retreat, he lets his hands fall slack. Slack enough that he finds the space between John’s bared shoulderblades, curls his fingers, and drags upwards, lightly enough that his nails are a threat but not any harm. John makes an obliterated noise right into his mouth and Dave drinks it down greedily, even while his kisses take little sips out of John’s mouth again, and again, and again.

Their hips are both moving in uncoordinated, hesitant movements, sharp but small, and Dave’s almost thankful for that—any more and he’d be—as retaliation for that back-scratching incident, John catches his teeth against Dave’s, bites his bottom lip, and Dave has to break away, John’s mouth still pulling at his, to gasp in a desperate breath. Every part of him is on fire, magma flowing through his veins, and he can almost feel the tick-tick-tick of an internal time bomb warning him to get out of his own blast radius before he destroys, not just himself, but the unfairly gorgeous young man draped over him too.

His nails are probably digging into the back of John’s neck, because if their mouths part Dave’s left too dizzy to think, and John doesn’t pull away. His kisses, though, become less of those plundering affairs and more of a wet, hot smear against Dave’s mouth, curving into every part of him and drenching him with the taste that’s now curling behind his teeth. Hitching one last drag of their hips together before this, too, stops. John’s mouth goes soft against Dave, still heated but a little calmer, and Dave tries to take a cue from his _best friend_ to breathe, take in air, let it out, relax into it, it’s just kissing. It’s just intimacy. It’s just trusting someone not to hurt him. No big deal.

John’s dialing back, not pushing forward, but still letting their mouths cling together—like he knows he should pull away, but he can’t bring himself to do it yet. Dave runs his hands back up to John’s face, thumbs finding his cheekbones and smoothing along them—he’ll do this as long as John’s up for it, but if they need to stop, he’ll be okay. A few more lingering kisses, each of them leaving ripples of sensation under Dave’s skin as the warmth of them radiates over him, and then John’s resting his forehead against Dave’s, leaning on his elbow so he can touch Dave’s face just like Dave is touching his. “That… wasn’t exactly like the party,” John says, and he has the audacity to sound embarrassed.

“I’ll take pictures next time, maybe the flash will make you more comfortable,” Dave deadpans. It’s dark, and John’s bedside LED only does so much, but with his fingers cradling John’s expression, he can feel when John smiles.

“No, I think I like it better this way,” he jokes back. “Much more private.” A short, teasing peck, but even this contact has memories blooming under Dave’s skin. “Sorry.”

“The hell are you apologizing for now?”

“I, uh.” John’s so shy about it he rolls off of Dave, retreats back to his divot in the mattress; he still clutches at Dave to hold him close. The cuddling never ends. “I just—that’s a lot for one night. Telling you, and—I didn’t want to take it too far. And, um,” with his mouth that wet, Dave can practically hear it when John starts chewing on his lip again, “I didn’t want to do more with you than I have with Sol.”

“Fucking christ, Egbert, are you telling me you _still_ haven’t put your dongle in his port?”

“Shut _up,_ ” John groans, and rolls onto his back—not away, just to reach the button on the light so he can turn it off. Dark, now. Just the streetlamp outside their window slanting through the horrible college-issue blinds. And something from the nightstand—someone’s phone, probably.

Dave reaches out to shut whatever it is off, and his hand comes to his shades first. Unread messages, then. Real quick before he surrenders to the cuddlemonster—

CG: AND I KNOW YOU'RE ABOUT TO BE BUSY  
\-- turntechGodhead [TG] is an idle chum! --  
CG: OR  
CG: I GUESS YOU PROBABLY ALREADY ARE  
CG: BUT  
CG: THANKS.  
CG: FOR ASKING THIS TIME.  
CG: <3  
\-- carcinoGeneticist [CG] ceased trolling turntechGodhead [TG] at 00:11 --

Oh.

This has been a _very_ long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here, have an extra: [an entirely-piano transcription of csardas](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eGG-PAL_RcQ).
> 
> \--[about the author](http://2x2verse.tumblr.com/about)\--


End file.
